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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476291">cherry sugar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vistalune/pseuds/vistalune'>vistalune</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuaka - Freeform, Bokuto Koutarou is a little shit, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gifted Kid Burnout, Gifted Kid Syndrome, M/M, Metaphors, Mid Time-Skip, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Roommates, Slow Burn, bokuto flirts with literally anything, photography student akaashi keiji, platonic kuroken, so does kuroo, weird descriptions, while also being bad at feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:48:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>65,669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vistalune/pseuds/vistalune</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“what an interesting turn of events.” bokuto says, letting his eyes glide over akaashi’s honeyed skin, thinking he looked really nice when the sun hit him like that, black hair complementing blue eyes so prettily and effortlessly it almost made him feel bad for being mean to him on purpose. the cherry lollipop bites his tongue. “glad i have you as a roommate, pretty boy.” </p><p>“don’t call me that.” akaashi shakes his head and stands up, the nickname making a fuzzy itchy feeling prod at his chest, caught somewhere in between annoyance and flattery at the same time. “i’m leaving.”</p><p>“already?” bokuto pouts, getting under akaashi's skin quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes, given the circumstances. “what a terrible roommate.”</p><p>...</p><p>or, the "i was so excited to live with someone who i could make friends with in my first year of college and good god why must it be you" au</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>haikyu, want to read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. silver medals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello!</p><p>i am back with anotha</p><p>i have probably changed everything about this fic about ten times before i finally settled on this idea. i don't have much plot yet but i do have a plan to wing it so that is exactly what we're gonna do! i hope you like this, and thank you for visiting me here!</p><p>enjoy!</p><p>and happy new year if you celebrate! i hope 2021 treats you well ilu &lt;333</p><p>p.s. characters are aged down to help with connections and fit more into the plot! instead of being in their late twenties, they're in their late teens!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi Keiji always really liked the honesty that was buried within photography, ever since he was a child.</p><p>With that specific medium, he always knew what to expect. Taking pictures always had a very straightforward path to a very specific destination.</p><p>He’s tried his hand in acrylics, oil pastels, watercolor, the works. </p><p>He hated most of them. </p><p>A simple accidental brush of a hand against wet paint ruined the entirety of the piece, or a spec of dust that had clung to the canvas would cause a distraction within the otherwise smoothness of the brushed paint once it dried. </p><p>Nobody really expected for their paintings to get messed up anyway, but they somehow always did, by accident.</p><p>With a camera, there was no way in hell he could ruin a developed photograph had he placed his hand the wrong way. A lens could always be cleaned to take sharper photos, or manipulated to take grainy ones, muffled ones, even. The zoom feature magnified everything and expressed its countenance across a wider plane effortlessly. </p><p>A meticulous build, in which the final product was just that – final.</p><p>There was always some kind of story in a photo, and Akaashi took pride in the fact that he could create fables of his own — different plotlines branching out from the way he angled his lens, reaching hands with quivering palms, always converging and lacing fingers in the end, all within the gloss of a developed photograph. </p><p>There was always a fulfilled expectation with it.</p><p>And because of photography, he’s learned the hard way that life was the complete opposite.</p><p>It threw you for loops, let you ride on wheels of hope and fabricated confidence, only to crash and burn <em>just </em>when you were beginning to enjoy the moment. And some crashes Akaashi found he could get over, brush his knees off and recover from quickly to move on to the next road, to get to his next destination.</p><p>High school was not one of those pileups.</p><p>The thing is, since he was little, he was told to go beyond what he thought he was capable of, being put in <em>upper-level </em>programs after pushing a few colored blocks around in a room that smelled like sanitizer and high class as stagnant light leaked through lunette windows, inflating his 8-year-old ego until he left middle school.</p><p>He was never pushed out of his comfort zone to know what true disappointment felt like, because he didn’t <em>need </em>to be. He was resistant to real challenges, because there was a stigma of kids having minds so big they couldn’t be contained in regular classes.</p><p>But it came so easy to him that he was convinced things that were difficult weren’t worth a minute of his time. </p><p>It was not hard or challenging – it was just <em>stupid. </em></p><p>He had taken classes that were rumored to be ambitious for a primary student, but it was easy. Kind of like being thrown into a pool with floaties on, and told to stay above the surface, while everyone around you struggled. </p><p>It was simple. And kind of satisfying.</p><p>When he got to high school, when APs kicked his ass across the three years he was there, stress had laid nails out in the road for his rickety tires to run over and flatten out. He struggled to find things that mattered. His coasting through school had abruptly stopped, and he had not been prepared for the reality he’d hit.</p><p>Clubs and activities inside the school were either too boring, or too <em>stupid</em>. He gave up on new hobbies after a few days if it hadn’t interested him, and if something even remotely prodded at his brain too often, he would drop it.</p><p>That had been another thing that Akaashi hadn’t expected, either.</p><p>And once he put the name on it, as he roamed the hallways in greyscale, it made a lot more sense than anything else.</p><p>Gifted kid syndrome was a shitty thing. </p><p>But Akaashi decided that he wouldn’t let it be that much of a shitty thing, and took matters into his own hands after failing his first exam that most students in his class aced in freshman year, all because they did this weird thing that he hadn’t even dreamed of doing back then — they <em>studied</em>.</p><p>Akaashi felt like he owed something to himself, for having the audacity to think that good grades came easy in high school, that everyone around him was creating more unnecessary work for themselves when all he had to do was exactly nothing and score himself an A. </p><p>He worked to earn the title of valedictorian once he graduated, staying up for hours studying, skipping parties and time to spend with friends because he <em> needed </em>that 4.0 GPA. </p><p>His reel of memories from back then was mostly filled with the lingering taste of canned espresso, and speaking to the streetlamps, retaining the impression of his mechanical pencils in his hopeful hands. </p><p>He needed to give his parents something to be truly proud of, and wanted to have something physical that told him he was just as much a genius as he was when he was 8.</p><p>Imagine how bad it was to find out he’d lost it to some transfer student within the last five months of the year, taking it from him, just like that. </p><p>A tall boy, that looked more like his head belonged face first in a keg of beer rather than the books, whose voice rang out like trumpet fanfare when excitement often got the better of him, whose hair was styled in this <em> stupidly </em>endearing way, had crushed Akaashi’s dreams in a swift eagle’s dive. </p><p>He’d been completely oblivious to Akaashi’s plight, too, when he would see him at lunch with his new friends, smiles that housed summer marigolds and hands that amplified his booming laugh as he clapped along with it.</p><p>Akaashi hated him.</p><p>
  <em> “I think you’re being a little dramatic. Just a touch.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kuroo had told him this once, his voice sweeping, bouncing around his head like stray balloons with tacks on them, drilling the hurt of broken assumptions into the soft parts of Akaashi’s brain as they danced. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The balloons jived, colorful latex blown up with silent letdown and whispered defeat. They cracked his skull deliberately, piercing his psyche with every sudden jolt as every memory of losing something he’d been striving for resurfaces. Another expectation ripped from his hands as easily as pennies slipping through pockets, or the melt of slushies in the July swelter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Four years of sacrifice, with his bright eyes set on the top… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Only to get second place, just like that. </em>
</p><p><em> It made his skin crawl to think about it. Didn’t he </em> <b> <em>fucking</em> </b> <em> deserve it? </em></p><p>
  <em> “Kuroo, I promised my parents I’d get that medallion.” He told him, his finger on the end of the spoon in his tea, the herbal aroma making him feel sick, his appetite lost. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And you did, Akaashi. It was just silver instead of gold, and that’s okay.” </em>
</p><p>It was just silver. </p><p>The color of not being good enough, of baseballs slipping right out of mitts at the last inning of the big game. The color of fingertips brushing over a falling cell phone just before the glass screen shatters on the ground, or the color of broken light bulbs on the basement floor — just out of reach, until it was too late.</p><p>Akaashi hated silver.</p><p>Since then, Akaashi believed that expectations were rickety buildings with faulty foundations, and the only people who could be supported on them were those who deserved it. </p><p>He’s learned to throw most of his expectations into dumpster fires to let that shit burn. How naive of him to believe the universe would give him what he wanted, what he <em> expected, </em> after he’d been so spoiled from a young age.</p><p>Akaashi has learned to never look past the peak of mountains again, because he knew his hope would get tugged from right beneath him like usual, stray tires and sputtering engines veering him off track for the last time since then.</p><p>And if someone took a photo of him on his last day of high school, the only story he’d tell is one of a glorified failure, wrapped up in false promises with a bow on top, as he tried his best to hide waves of disappointment behind a small grin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the universe sucks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello! i have written a lot for this au and it's seriously super fun to write, so i hope that you're having fun reading it! and also that it's not to tedious of a read bc i know some scenes can be wordy sometimes ;-; i feel like this au will be long with the stuff i have planned but! i will definitely try to keep it at 50-60k like usual!!</p><p>also – thank you for the comments and kudos for the first chapter!! it's super motivating to see and talk with you about this au, so thank you very much for taking the time to read this and leave messages and kudos!! ahhh i appreciate it so much T-T</p><p>pls enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi’s parents let him drive up here with Kuroo, his car not nearly big enough to fit all of their things – but there was nothing you couldn’t accomplish with a little willpower.</p><p>And they knew when they opened the door of the backseat, many things would spill out, maybe break, but they both decided that as long as they didn’t see it, it didn’t exist, and they didn’t need to worry about it.</p><p>That was a problem for Seven-Hours-From-Now-Akaashi-and-Kuroo. </p><p>Being mindfully unaware was one of Akaashi’s strong suits.</p><p>Right now, as the sky erupted in yellow velvet, while violets sink within the aura of the heavy sun, Akaashi’s chest fills with the excitement that road trips usually brought, as Kuroo’s eyes were screwed shut and he was screaming the lyrics to the song playing on the radio with all the air he had in his lungs, shouting to the birds and making the trees shy away from him as they sped down the highway.</p><p>The two were very good at existing together. </p><p>Akaashi loved moments like this, where they were free to act carefree with each other driving down the freeway at noon. They both completely understood one another in how they shifted in their seats or hummed at a thought. Having been best friends since middle school, Kuroo knew Akaashi like the back of his hand, from his favorite blend of tea leaves to how he was feeling based on how he twitched his eyebrow at what someone said. </p><p>And sometimes, he wondered how he was lucky enough to land a guy like Kuroo. They were a very uncanny pair —Kuroo almost too laid back, while Akaashi was scared of parties and saying no to people. </p><p>But they were good for each other, Akaashi housing solar systems and Andromeda in his head, while Kuroo spoke of glass beads and cloud iridescence as easily as it was for him to smile. </p><p>They worked.</p><p>Akaashi had always liked Kuroo anyway. </p><p>“Did you check who you got as a roommate?” Kuroo asks suddenly, watching the way the sunlight beams from the window onto Akaashi’s skin as he drives, sunlight slashing through his blue eyes like asterisms in tanzanite, and he thinks he really <em> does </em>have the prettiest best friend in the world.</p><p>Upon the question, Akaashi’s heart skipped at the thought of living with some random guy he knew nothing of, considering he was severely allergic to anything that made him uncomfortable and he was terrified of new people. There was something about hidden expectations they had for you, all based on your first impression. And if you didn’t fulfill those expectations, they would brand you as weird or think of you differently.</p><p>Akaashi feels sick at the thought. </p><p>It would be for at least a year, which is what the university required, and then he’d be able to live away from the dorms, in an apartment with Kuroo. </p><p>That was their plan, and nothing had changed since they talked about it a year ago.</p><p>“Hm. Not yet.” Akaashi brings up a hand to pinch at his nose once an itch swipes at his skin, careful not to misplace the silver ring in it, or the glasses perched on the bridge. He didn’t want to have to deal with fixing it. “I like to be surprised.”</p><p>And the fact of the matter was that he really did not like to be surprised, but he liked to pretend he did in hopes that he would someday. Maybe pretending would help him open up, to eventually break an expectation so he could get moving with his life.</p><p>He hated surprises, if anything, getting enough of those in his senior year.</p><p>The car jolts over a bump in the road and his stomach falls, the road wavering.</p><p>“I got a guy named Kozume. He’s our age, but is a sophomore already.”</p><p>“What?” Akaashi finds that surprising – he’s heard of people doing it in movies, always knew some people had that option, but it was different hearing it in person, knowing Kuroo was going to be roommates with them. “How?”</p><p>“Some people just have brains that are too gigantic to keep contained, Akaashi.” Kuroo pokes his own head while looking out of the windshield. “So you end up in your second year in college at nineteen.” </p><p>Kuroo looks out the window and watches the trees blur, Akaashi going a <em> little </em>too fast over the speed limit, but he didn’t mind the slight adrenaline replacing the blood in his veins.</p><p>Either that, or the two energy drinks he chugged outside of the gas station were working wonders, and he was okay with that, too.</p><p>Akaashi eventually shrugs. “I guess. It just sucks that we can’t choose. I have to live with a stranger.” </p><p>The thought of talking to someone he didn’t know made him feel uneasy, even more so living with them for five months. What if they snored loudly? What if they thought he was weird as he stayed up solving crossword puzzles until 3am because he couldn’t sleep? What if they were mean to him because of his hair?</p><p>He liked the mess.</p><p>Akaashi was petrified of anything that brought inconvenience, because usually what followed was embarrassment, so if he had a bad roommate or if his roommate disliked him for something he does, he thinks the next best action would be to transfer schools. </p><p>Definitely not too dramatic, either.</p><p>And many of the worst-case scenarios he liked to create in his head had a -10% chance of happening, but they still frightened him to death anyway, as if just thinking about them would <em>make </em> it happen. </p><p>Like Murphy’s Law, except Akaashi wasn’t willing to find out exactly what would go wrong.</p><p>Kuroo looks out of the windshield at the sky before them and admires just how infinite the world really felt. His chest fills with dawn, stars settling on his heart as he looks at his best friend and smiles at his next thought.</p><p>“With your luck, you’d get someone you can’t stand. Could you imagine getting Fukunaga, from econ? Or fuckin’<em> Bokuto Koutarou?” </em></p><p>Akaashi makes a face, and despite knowing Kuroo was just being silly, his heart still plummets at the encounter that he knew was next to impossible.</p><p>“Last I heard, he moved across the country for university.” Akaashi grips the gear shift a little tighter at the thought of him, the embarrassment he suffered at the pitfall of his senior year poking its head through his train of thought. </p><p>He couldn’t stand Bokuto. The mere mention of his name made his spine pique.</p><p>“Really? I thought he stayed in the city.” Kuroo looks almost disappointed as he tilts his head in thought. “He was always super nice to me. That’s too bad.”</p><p>“Nice my ass.” Akaashi switches lanes, except he was not particularly the <em>best </em>at driving and the car shakes almost violently as he gets too close to the dashed lines, the tires skimming over the raised pavement markers. “Why are we talking about Bokuto, anyway? That guy sucks.”</p><p>
  <em> Bokuto.  </em>
</p><p>His name tasted like lemon rinds when he said it out loud, like black coffee and the smell of burnt rubber. It makes him grimace, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as he imagines him, in all of his overwhelming calibers and Akaashi knew he still wouldn’t be able to keep up had they truly gone to the same university.</p><p>Akaashi hated the feeling.</p><p>“Because you’re obsessed with him after he stole valedictorian from you.” Kuroo snickers and looks out the window, rather than Akaashi’s eyes. “Plus, it’s not like you didn’t have a massive crush on him at one point.”</p><p>Akaashi cringes, yet couldn’t stop the bloom as carnations flutter beneath his cheeks, the butterflies in his stomach trying their best not to move and give him away. Kuroo was <em>right, </em>but it was one of those high school crushes you’d see in the cheesy movies with the shitty protagonists. </p><p>On his list of Top Ten Things He’d Love to Forget About High School, Bokuto would be numbers 1 through 10.</p><p>“A crush? We are not kids.” Akaashi feels like spotlights are above him, weighing him down and shattering any convincing arguments he could possibly think of. “I hate that kid.”</p><p>Kuroo shrugs. <em> “Now </em>you do<em>. </em>Don’t think I forgot about that phase when he first got to our school.”</p><p>“You are ridiculous.” Akaashi grips the steering wheel with his other hand as he remembers <em>exactly </em>what phase Kuroo was talking about, that solid week of constant complaining about the new transfer student when he arrived at school not ever going past him, whims of a gripe at the tip of his tongue whenever he saw him around. </p><p>Akaashi just wanted to express his disdain, is all. Nothing wrong with that.</p><p>“Akaashi, you literally fall for anyone who remotely shows interest in you.”</p><p>Akaashi puffs, as if Kuroo had just said a big secret that he’d been planning to keep to himself forever. The constant callouts were a lot to handle at once.</p><p>“I do <em> not</em>.” </p><p>He definitely did, but he didn’t think he’d be transparent enough for Kuroo to pick up on something like that. </p><p>“You definitely do. Bokuto flirted with you one time and you were hooked.”</p><p>“He flirts with everyone.” Akaashi sighs heavily into the air once he sees Kuroo look at him in his peripherals, knowing he had that discerning expression on his face, exhausted. “I am begging for you to change the subject.” </p><p>Kuroo laughs, and Akaashi tries to hide the humiliation that was threatening to disclose as he switches lanes again. The sunlight dragged over his knuckles and left gold behind, a warm bronze that skipped over his skin before he left it as he drove through a tunnel.</p><p>“<em>Anyway.” </em>And Akaashi is thankful for Kuroo’s terrible attention span as he looks out the window again, waiting for Akaashi to speak. “I’m hoping to make at least one friend while I’m there.”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume anyone would want to be friends with you.”</p><p>And Akaashi’s lips parted in mock offense as Kuroo cackles, before he lightly pushed Kuroo’s shoulder from where he was sitting in the driver’s seat. His giggle bounces off of the windows, and while Kuroo is pushing his hand away and ruffling his black hair, his smile beaming like crepuscular in the afternoon, he’s excited to spend another four years with his favorite person in the entire world, though they wouldn’t be living together.</p><p>This part was mostly working out, just like he expected. </p><p>Maybe life wasn’t all that bad.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The absolute first thing Akaashi does, after parking next to a black motorcycle in the underground lot, is check on his camera.</p><p>A Canon EOS 80D, his moms splurging on him before sending him off to university, sat somewhere in these cardboard boxes that sat in front of him, beckoning him with open hands, waiting to be unpacked.</p><p>He gently rummages through the smaller box Kuroo had carried up here for him, the biggest one sat in the corner of his room. Already, the room looked cluttered, the otherwise tiny space being taken up by these few boxes and a very tall Kuroo spread out on Akaashi’s bed.</p><p>Having helped Kuroo put his things away first and meeting his roommate with him, Akaashi was tired enough to push his own responsibilities aside for a while, deciding to unpack sometime between the next five minutes and tomorrow night. </p><p>Procrastination was still one of Akaashi’s side effects from elementary school, and he didn’t know how to cure it. But it never steered him in any <em>terrible </em>directions, so it was a hard habit to kick.</p><p>Kuroo sits up on Akaashi’s bed and leans back on his hands, his eyes closed as he waits for Akaashi to do whatever he needs to do, knowing Akaashi preferred the silence and he didn’t mind not speaking right now.</p><p>The dorms were quite nice — a lot prettier and airy than what Google gave them credit for. The walls were painted a lactescent white, making everything look bigger and distorting spatial awareness from the boundless shade despite smaller space, the beds plush and the navy blankets heavy, draping over tile flooring like silk robes. </p><p>They were fortunate that they weren’t too far from the actual campus itself – only one station, rather than the three or four that Akaashi had anticipated. </p><p>On top of that, there was a Don Quijote not too far from the dorms, as well as a red light district a few stations away, in which Akaashi and Kuroo had already made plans to explore tonight.</p><p>Kuroo, on the other hand, had already felt at home here. It was probably due to the fact that everyone kept to themselves and nobody cared about what you were doing or how you dressed — a lot different than high school. He was good at school regardless and liked to experience new things, so Kuroo was more than excited to start college with Akaashi.</p><p>His main concern was being liked by his roommate. Nothing was more awkward than sleeping in a dorm with someone who didn’t like you, and Kuroo was deathly afraid of being uncomfortable.</p><p>He thinks Akaashi’s telepathic wavelengths were truly affecting him.</p><p>“Is it okay?” Kuroo opens his eyes and asks, Akaashi holding the lens cover in his left hand while peering into the navy eye of the camera. </p><p>The sunlight glints off of the black sheen as Akaashi tilts it a little, and Kuroo looks out the window.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s good.” Akaashi brings the camera up to his face and shuts one eye, glancing at the top of Kuroo’s head, the sunlight pouring over his dark hair, making the ends erupting in silvers. “Can I snap you?”</p><p>Kuroo immediately brings a hand up to his chin and puckers his lips as if he was going to kiss someone, making a sultry face, and Akaashi smiles while taking the first photo with his camera away from home.</p><p>The camera held onto his future, as he'd need it for projects and to rebuild his portfolio, while also clinging to the memories of his moms back at home. He knew he would miss them, but he would still have them with him whenever he went somewhere new, sharing his world with them, even when they weren’t physically with him.</p><p>And as he looks at Kuroo on the LCD screen in his hands, the fairy lights he’d put up casting a warm autumnal glow around his shoulders, he hopes they were still just as proud of him as they assured him they were.</p><p>Even without the gold medal.</p><p>“I look pretty fuckin’ hot in that one,” Kuroo tells him, glancing at himself upside down, the sun warming the spot on the bed he was on.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Akaashi says, setting the camera on the bed beside Kuroo as he begins to finish unpacking the box. “It took a lot of work to make you look like that.”</p><p>Kuroo gently shoves Akaashi in the middle of his forehead, smiling.</p><p>“Jealousy is a disease, Akaashi. That’s why your roommate isn’t here, yet.” </p><p>Akaashi sets the things in the box on his bed — a silver salutatorian medal, a trophy from when the volleyball team he was playing for won nationals back in high school, and a glass snow globe Kuroo bought for him from when he went on vacation to the states — before folding the box back up.</p><p>“I’m still scared.” Akaashi picks up the trophy and places it in an empty space where his desk was, completely bare except for that one item. “If he hates me, can I sleep in your room?”</p><p>Kuroo nods, holding the snowglobe in his hand and watching the white water flakes dance around the snow-capped mountain in the middle of it, silver flecks surfing through the currents and seemingly winking back at him when he tilts it into the sunlight.</p><p>“I’d love for us to have a slumber party. I just don’t know how Kozume would feel about it.”</p><p>Akaashi groans and presses his hand to his forehead, the sleeves of his oversized black hoodie tickling his nose. “I forgot about Kozume…” He tsks. “Dammit.”</p><p>“Akaashi, how are you going to assume your roommate won’t like you, already?” Kuroo asks, handing the globe to him while his eyes run to the front door, as if the roommate in question had been waiting outside and listening to their conversation. “You’re a pretty cool dude.”</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head. “I am just nervous. I’m scared of new people.”</p><p>“Relax, would you?” Kuroo asks, absentmindedly kicking his legs back and forth against the side of Akaashi’s bed frame. “You technically have your own room if you pretend there’s, like...a wall in between you two.” He shrugs. “If he sucks, just hide in the student lounge or hang out with me during the day.”</p><p>Akaashi bites the inside of his bottom lip, his worries sitting beside Kuroo while his nerves hang onto the wings of the ceiling fan as it spun, constant reminders within the walls of the dorm. He knew he really shouldn’t have anything to worry about, but still.</p><p>He was still nervous.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>He didn’t like not knowing about how the things around him would go. He decided that he hated surprises with a passion and was terrified of committing to something he would hate in the long run. </p><p>Kuroo could practically hear Akaashi’s thoughts as they melt through his ears and onto the tile, simpering at him.</p><p>“Don’t worry! I’ll rescue you if you need it, princess.” </p><p>Akaashi makes a face and picks up his medal, looking to the wall to find a good place to hang it, trying to ignore the silver glint as it swung towards the sunlight. He’d clipped up his favorite polaroid photos on a clothesline beneath the fairy lights (that took way too much effort to pin), grainy images of Kuroo smiling beside the roses that bloomed beneath his mothers’ windowsill, or old friends from high school.</p><p>In fact, half of the photos were of him and Kuroo, or just Kuroo, by popular demand of the older saying he would <em>bring</em> <em>joy to whoever sees them, so you gotta put them up!</em> </p><p>He might have been right, but Akaashi would never let him get that satisfaction.</p><p>“Don’t ever call me princess again.” Akaashi shakes his head, blue eyes skimming over the wall and thinking it would just look better without the medal on it. “It sounds dirty coming from you.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, princess.” Kuroo chuckles at Akaashi’s expression, before pulls his phone out, checking the time quickly. He presses a light-blue app to scroll through his zero notifications and stale timeline. He closes the app and Akaashi rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Hey. Do you wanna come with me to the volleyball game? It’s the last Friday of the month. First one of the season.”</p><p>Akaashi hums, thinking into the tile beneath his feet. He was down to go at this moment, but he didn’t know if he’d have that same mindset when Friday rolled around. He knew Kuroo would push him if he were to say no, and he was the only person who could get Akaashi to change his mind no matter what it was, so he accepted the invitation anyway.</p><p>He puts his silver medal in the drawer of his desk, before shutting it, hoping he doesn't have to open it for any reason any time soon.</p><p>“Who are we playing against?” Akaashi asks, sitting at his desk chair and leaning back, letting his head fall against the top of it, his hands in his hoodie pockets and playing with the silver rings on his fingers out of habit. </p><p>“Dunno, I didn’t really read it. I’ll probably go back to the lounge again to go over the flyer. And steal some snacks while I’m at it.”</p><p>Akaashi shrugs, not seeing the harm in being a <em> little </em>integrated into his college life here. If he didn’t want to be bothered with going to frat parties and joining clubs, this was the next best thing.</p><p>“Okay.” Akaashi sighs heavily and shuts his eyes, the weight of his unknown roommate and being away from his parents making him come down with a stress headache, heavy exhaustion settling itself on his lap from the day. “I’m fucking tired.”</p><p>“We did spend the day driving up here. Plus—”</p><p>There is a knock on the front door that makes Kuroo sit up and look at it, Akaashi swiveling in his seat as his hands begin to clam up.</p><p>The hidden excitement for a new roommate was not lost on him, but the anticipation smothered any bit of happiness he could pull from whoever was behind the door.</p><p>He was actually kind of fearful.</p><p>“Roomie! If you’re in there, I’m coming in. Please don’t be naked or something.”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyebrows worry in the middle of his forehead, turning to look at Kuroo for answers to his silent questions. He looked equally as confused.</p><p>The voice is so distinct and familiar, yet foreign in every way to him. And he’s heard it <em>before, </em>knows that it’s someone he’s met at least one time, but still not being able to put a face to a name. </p><p>It was kind of like chasing after butterflies in the spring, their wings so close to your fingertips as you rushed to catch up, brushing chalky pigment onto your skin.</p><p>He was <em>so close. </em> </p><p>And Akaashi <em>knew </em>that voice, but could not catch it.</p><p>The door opens, Akaashi’s body running cold in anticipation, before it goes completely numb at the sight of <em>him </em>holding onto the strap of his black backpack.</p><p>What the fuck, what the <em> fuck. </em></p><p>Akaashi can only watch as he takes off his slippers by the door, a girl following suit with a smaller box. A blue cotton shirt hugged his shoulders and grey joggers pooled at his ankles, a white lollipop stick poking in between cherry blossom lips and he wasn’t even doing much, but he still commanded attention with zero effort.</p><p>Kuroo tries his very best to hide his grin beside Akaashi because he <em>so called it!  </em></p><p>Meanwhile, Akaashi wants to jump out the window and run all the way back home.</p><p>“Hi, Bokuto!” Kuroo calls from Akaashi’s bed, knowingly causing him to look up, and Akaashi thinks of a thousand different ways to beat Kuroo up behind a Wendy’s parking lot, just enough for him to understand how annoying he was for this.</p><p>Bokuto looks up at Kuroo with a smile, his golden eyes brazen against the balmy sun filtering through the window. Akaashi sees he was so ready to greet Kuroo, until the two of them made eye contact for a second, and his face fell so obviously, it was almost comical.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I’mswitching rooms,” Akaashi mutters, swiveling away from Bokuto and facing Kuroo, looking into his sock-covered feet. “I have to.”</p><p>“What was that, Akaashi?” Bokuto says his name in that <em>irritating </em>way, much like he did back in high school. He could tell he was ready to get under his skin in the way one of his silver eyebrows raised in mischief, like a child. “Speak a little louder, would you?”</p><p>“I don’t have anything to say to you, Bokuto,” Akaashi says, shutting his eyes and trying to calm the annoyance that was crawling frantically beneath his skin, a colony of red ants disturbed. </p><p>He thought Bokuto would have matured a little bit since high school, but the way his voice was still loud, in the way he still styled his hair, in the way he still made it a point to get on Akaashi’s nerves, he sees that he hasn’t changed at all.</p><p>He wonders if he was still just as boisterous as he was in high school.</p><p>“Aw, are you still mad about that?” Bokuto asks, his voice getting closer and telling him that he was beside him, making his way to his bed. ”It was just valedictorian, Akaashi. Just a little extra studying, is all. Anyone could have pulled it off.”</p><p>Akaashi flushes, mainly because it sounded so insignificant coming out of Bokuto’s mouth, and the mockery that dressed his words in flashy clothes was not subtle in any kind of way. That jab reminded him very well just how damaging the reticent loss of approval from his teachers and parents was to his self-esteem, because who cares about your grades if you didn’t have anything to show for it anymore?</p><p>Akaashi imagines himself beating up Bokuto instead of Kuroo behind the parking lot, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.</p><p>Maybe beating up both of them would.</p><p>“Well! I do <em> not </em> want to be caught up in the middle of this lovers’ quarrel.” Kuroo stands up and stretches his arms above his head, arching his back a little, as if he’d just woken up from a nap, a grin on his face that told Akaashi he found this whole thing <em>hilarious</em>. “I will see you later for a night of passion in the district, my lover.”</p><p>Akaashi clenches his jaw to refrain from retaliating, not wanting to make a bad impression on the girl who was helping Bokuto with his things as the door shuts behind Kuroo. She wasn’t someone who Akaashi had ever seen before, her hair the color of pennies in the sun, with dark, pretty eyelashes shading matching eyes.</p><p>Just as big as Bokuto’s, too.</p><p>“I’ll also see you later, Bokuto.” Her voice sounded like blue velvet as she set the box down on his bed, sleepy. “And stop being an ass to your roommate, would you?”</p><p><em> “Yukippe! </em>Don’t leave me, please?” Bokuto calls after her, but she escapes quickly and the door softly closes behind her. </p><p>Akaashi could almost see the pout on his lips, had he been facing him, the lollipop stick jutting from his mouth as his cheek puffs with the candy. </p><p>Bokuto sighs, and Akaashi feels the ants again. Out of all things to go absolutely wrong, this had to be the worst of it.</p><p>They’re caught in awkward silence, and Akaashi almost feels the urge to go out into the student lounge and make a new friend instead, maybe go on a hunt for Kuroo’s room and crash in there early, literally <em>anything else </em>than stay here.</p><p>He tries to think of a good excuse to make Kozume feel bad for him and allow him to stay, now, rather than later.</p><p>“What an interesting turn of events,” Bokuto says, letting his eyes glide over Akaashi’s honeyed skin, thinking he looked really nice when the sun hit him like that, black hair complementing blue eyes so prettily and effortlessly it almost made him feel bad for being mean to him on purpose. The cherry lollipop bites his tongue. “Glad I have you as a roommate, Pretty Boy.” </p><p>“Don’t call me that.” Akaashi shakes his head and stands up, the nickname making a fuzzy itchy feeling prod at his brain, caught somewhere in between annoyance and flattery at the same time. “I’m leaving.”</p><p>“Already?” Bokuto pouts, getting under Akaashi’s skin quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes, given the circumstances. “What a terrible roommate.”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t say anything as he slides his feet into his slippers, hoping the slight slam of the door behind him would be enough to tell Bokuto to fuck off entirely, making his way to the student lounge to hopefully run into Kuroo again.</p><p>He could not believe this.</p><p>Out of <em>all things </em>to go wrong…</p><p>He takes it back. Life was complete garbage.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. early mornings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello hello!!</p><p>i hope you're doing okay, and thank you for visiting me here today!! </p><p>pls enjoy these next few chapters!!</p><p>p.s. i know bokuto isn't this much of an ass canonically!! i just wanted to change up his character for plot purposes pls don't think i hate him hhhh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the next day, Tuesday.</p><p>Well, the <em> day </em> was more of an understatement. It was exactly 6am, a subtle fog rolling over their city with the trudge of the morning, coating the windows in a lush ivory mist that you would only ever see in horror movies.</p><p>Akaashi was caught in the purgatory between willing himself to go back to sleep, or allowing himself to wake to the sting of the morning as muffled, distant rings became deafening and merciless. </p><p>This was a dreaded time, worse than the witching hour almost, in which he vowed to never be caught dead waking up at again after high school. </p><p>Unfortunately for him, there was a blaring alarm clock from Bokuto’s side of the dorm that sent jolts of electricity into his skull, his heart racing as all the blood in his body ran cold from the sudden loud noise, earsplitting like tornado warnings. </p><p>He slowly opens his eyes and tries to focus on breathing, hearing shuffling from across the room as Bokuto wakes. Along with the fog, it was too dark to see anything, pitch dark bleeding into their dorm, save for the dim light of Bokuto’s phone screen as it sits on the edge of his desk. </p><p>The blankets on Bokuto’s bed shuffle. </p><p>There was a soft groan that sounded strained, telling Akaashi he was stretching.</p><p>Akaashi leans up on his elbow and squints in his direction, knowing damn well it was all in vain, considering he couldn’t see without glasses or contacts, and he was too lazy to reach for the nightstand. </p><p>Plus, it was incredibly dark, so blindness would have to win this one.</p><p>Akaashi watches a silhouette of Bokuto peel his blankets off of himself, just to sit atop of them, the ancient bed bawling beneath his weight as he stretches his arms above his head again. </p><p>Akaashi blinks, his eyes heavy and caustic with lack of sleep as a slight irritation runs through his bloodstream already, wondering what was so important for Bokuto to be up at 6 in the damn morning when they were still supposed to be on summer break. </p><p>Bokuto was the last person Akaashi expected to be an early bird.</p><p>There’s an ache in his shoulder from sitting up for so long, wanting so desperately to plop himself back down into his mattress, to hopefully sink into it and let the earth swallow him whole, just so he could get some more sleep.</p><p>Bokuto finally stops the alarm clock, a default melody that solely brought back the dread he felt in high school, before lying on his back where he sat, bringing his legs straight up and resting his heels against the wall. Akaashi blinks, before slowly reaching for his glasses, thinking maybe he was still in a dream with the way time seemed to slack around him, silently coaxing him to sleep. </p><p>What the <em> hell </em> was happening right now?</p><p>“Oh, Akaashi! Good morning, Pretty Boy!” Bokuto beams once he hears the scraping of his frames against the wood of the desk, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.</p><p>Even in the dark, Bokuto’s voice sparked voltages and lit fires, incandescence against the shadows.</p><p>Akaashi hated the way his name sounded coming from Bokuto, a thick, saccharine drip covering each syllable in a considerate ruse that he’d love to smack right out of his mouth.</p><p>Disgusting.</p><p>“Why are you up so early?” Akaashi asks, annoyed that he was also woken up, but deciding to make peace with it now before it ruined his entire day, thinking of an excuse to tell the residence office and get himself a new roommate in the process.</p><p>Something like a loud alarm clock was too petty of a reason, wasn’t it?</p><p>“Early morning yoga helps your brain flow faster throughout the day,” Bokuto says, the straps of his white cotton tank top too loose and slipping over his shoulder as he reaches for his feet, extending. “Bet you didn’t know that.”</p><p>“I don’t waste time looking up pointless tips that aren’t proven to work.” </p><p>Akaashi glances to Bokuto’s desk as the other tsks, just to be nosey. </p><p>In the muffled light still streaming from Bokuto’s phone, Akaashi makes out glass bowls and paintbrushes and mason jars sprawled messily across the surface, canvases still wrapped in plastic stacked on the corner of the desk, a few leaning haphazardly against the wall from where they’d fallen off and Bokuto didn’t bother to put back. </p><p>That truly was Bokuto’s side of the room.</p><p>Akaashi always thought someone like Bokuto Koutarou majoring in some form of art was still strange. He expected something more stereotypical for him from earning valedictorian and playing volleyball for the spring season at their high school, like social work or sports medicine. </p><p><em>Physics</em>, even.</p><p>This makes him think a little differently about Bokuto. Imagining him benevolently holding a paintbrush, when he looks like he would accidentally crush anything he touched, was weird.</p><p>Maybe they had more in common than he thought. </p><p>Maybe he <em> did </em> have some redeeming qualities.</p><p>Huge emphasis on the maybe.</p><p>But even then, this was yet another thing Akaashi couldn’t let him be better in. Art was supposed to be <em> his </em>thing, and he’d be damned if he would let Bokuto one-up him now, even if they were different mediums.</p><p>The point still stands.</p><p>“—that same attitude is why you ended up earning salutatorian.”</p><p>Akaashi seethes once his comment registers, any nice thoughts about Bokuto completely shattered on the ground, the morning somehow lagging how quickly words skipped into his brain, but it was too dark for Bokuto to see his annoyance, if he really wanted to. </p><p>He sets his glasses back on his nightstand and lies down again, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts run along the stucco.</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong with salutatorian.” Akaashi turns himself away from Bokuto and lies down again, trying to force himself to go back to sleep and not have to deal with Bokuto for as long as he could, slight embarrassment jamming itself under his skin and making the vertebrae in his spine itch. </p><p>“You’re absolutely right,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi pictures his stupid face behind the midnight of his eyelids, a sour smile on his lips. “It’s just <em> not </em> valedictorian.”</p><p>“You didn’t even deserve it. You transferred five months before school ended.” Akaashi grumbles, knowing he’s being unfair, but he needed something to grab onto and that one was the first thing he could think of, albeit extremely shallow.</p><p>Bokuto deserved it just as much as anyone else who worked as hard as he had to get it, but he’d be <em> damned </em>if he let him know that.</p><p>“No one likes a sore loser, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto grabs his other foot with his other hand, slowly reaching for Akaashi with the opposite one. “Maybe you could try your luck at getting on the Dean’s List this year. Maybe.”</p><p>“I have no interest in that, anymore,” Akaashi says, his voice flat and cold, and to be honest, there was a dissonance in him that told him to stop being a jerk to his roommate of the next four months at least, just to try and salvage some peace, but he just couldn't.</p><p>Bokuto’s voice frayed his fucking nerves.</p><p>“Why? You gave up?” Bokuto asks, and there is more shifting and creaking and he sounds like he’s closer, telling Akaashi he was probably standing in between their beds and doing another dumb yoga pose. “Good choice.”</p><p>Akaashi hoped he lost his balance and fell. He plays that exact scene out in his head, Bokuto falling on his ass and Akaashi laughing so loudly at him it makes the sun scowl.</p><p><em> “No </em>. Just not interested anymore.” Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut as a heaviness was beginning to weigh them down, his skin prickling at their conversation and he was hoping Bokuto would do the rest of his yoga or whatever the hell it was in quiet. </p><p>“I get it. It kind of loses its meaning after high school. No one really cares after that.”</p><p>And Bokuto <em> is </em> quiet for a moment, and Akaashi feels himself get a little heavier as the silence begins to lull him back to sleep, before Bokuto's voice tears through the stillness, like tissue paper.</p><p>“Your side of the room is very, um...interesting.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs through his nose, knowing he was wishing for the impossible. The universe was not on his side for this one, either.</p><p>“What’s wrong with it?” He asks, remembering his photos on the wall and hoping that Bokuto wasn’t taking any digs at Kuroo while he wasn’t here. </p><p>Or maybe he was looking at the fairy lights. Or the snow globe and trophy on his desk. Maybe his eyes could see through wood and he was staring at the silver medallion sitting in the desk drawer, ready to make Akaashi feel small as the silver color swallowed him whole.</p><p>“Did you have to make it so ugly?”</p><p>Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut tighter, feeling the acidic rise in his blood making its way through his brain. If he weren't so hellbent on sleeping, he would have leaped onto Bokuto’s bed and smothered him with one of his own pillows.</p><p>“I could ask your parents the same thing about you.” Is all he says, his eyelids heavy and stinging from sleep deprivation, his words spilling and not really cycling through his head to think about before he said it.</p><p>Bokuto gasps out loud, very audibly slapping his hand over his chest, and Akaashi pictures his fingers curled in his tank top, like Kuroo liked to do sometimes. He wasn't sure if he liked how similar the two were.</p><p><em> “Aghaashi! </em>How could you say such horrible things to your roommate?” Bokuto asks, his voice big and dramatic. </p><p>Akaashi brings his blankets up to his ears, hoping they would help block him out, his foot now getting cold from where it poked out from the blanket.</p><p>He could never win, it seems, not even with himself.</p><p>“Stop saying my name like that,” Akaashi says, grumbling. “Let me sleep, <em> please </em>.”</p><p>“You are so boring,” Bokuto says, and there is more ruffling in sheets, and Akaashi assumes Bokuto is back in bed. “I guess I’ll paint while you’re asleep. Though I have no idea what to create.” </p><p>He says that last bit softly, like he’d been truly speaking to himself, and Akaashi almost finds comfort in the way his voice fell serene when talking about his art.</p><p>There was a calmness that reminded him of how flowers billow in a July breeze, maybe how warm water pulls over rocks on the shores of Oahu before dusk. A whole and captivating tone that he knew was only played very rarely.</p><p>He wonders how many people have heard this side of Bokuto besides himself, albeit for a brief moment, and if they ever caught him in the middle of painting.</p><p>He then wonders how Bokuto looks when he is painting as a newfound curiosity sits in his chest.</p><p>There was something cautious about how Bokuto spoke about it, like he didn’t want to mess anything up before even stroking paint onto a canvas. It made Akaashi want to think about him a little more, another layer to peel back when he got the chance to.</p><p>Hm.</p><p>“Why’d you become a painting major, anyway?” Akaashi asks, shifting himself again so that he was facing Bokuto, though it was still way too dark to make out details. “You don’t look like the type to paint.”</p><p>“I’ve been painting since I was little.” He says, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Only makes sense for me to pursue it now, when I have the opportunity to, instead of something I know I wouldn’t like.”</p><p>"Wow." Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “You actually said something intelligent for once.” </p><p>Bokuto giggles, a sugary ring to it, but Akaashi knew there was some underlying sarcasm that he was sure would piss him off. It was only a matter of time before–</p><p>“Cute of you to say that, considering intelligence hasn’t been your strong suit since high school.”</p><p>
  <em> There it is. </em>
</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t have anything else to say, especially now when Bokuto was humming a tune and completely switched his focus to somewhere else, as if making Akaashi wallow some more in his self-pity was something of a formality. Like it was at the top of his to-do list before he started his day.</p><p>Akaashi brings the blanket over his face and tries his best to sleep, but is instead haunted by the sound of dry pigments being crushed in glass bowls and wet brushes skating over canvas.</p><p>Sounds that were supposed to be relaxing grated against his skin and clipped his nerves in half. </p><p>He starts counting the days until the next semester, when he could move out and live with Kuroo.</p><p>Anything else would be better than now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. new friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s exactly three weeks later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The semester was treating Akaashi very well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His classes weren’t too difficult for now, and he was praying for this stagnancy throughout the rest of the year. He’d already made a new acquaintance since freshman orientation, being forced into a group chat with him by their peer leader and naturally gravitating towards each other after promptly leaving it before the day was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it was more like Konoha gravitating towards Akaashi, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had Intro to Photography together, and Konoha immediately sat next to him when he walked in and noticed Akaashi’s table was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t mind at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Konoha was moonbeams and subsuns, sharp, observant eyes holding afterlight despite a face veiled in penumbra, and Akaashi felt he could get lost in him, had he stared long enough. He was very nice and warmed up to people quickly, his personality paradoxical to Akaashi’s, but it worked well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kind of like magnets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was, Akaashi was kind of underdeveloped in the social aspect of his life skills, and had an irrational fear of embarrassment on top of that, so meeting new people was not his favorite thing in the world to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t so bad when they were the ones to reach out first. On top of that, Konoha specifically liked to text, rather than call or video chat. </span>
  <span>Texting was better for Akaashi, because if he said something dumb, he could just delete it and start a new message. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can’t really do that in person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Konoha was pleasant enough, and Akaashi knew he couldn’t rely on Kuroo for the rest of his time in college, so he willed himself to get to know him every day while they had class together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They‘d been assigned their first project since then, and despite maybe wanting to ask Konoha if he could be his subject, just to be friendly, Akaashi was scared that he might have been too busy and didn’t want to bother him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But apart from that, while he was fortunate enough to have classes with later times, he still found high brick walls in the form of Bokuto’s daily 6am yoga routines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the craziest part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who gets up just to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>yoga?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could deal with Bokuto’s weird ways of trying to find inspiration for his art (which included sitting under the spray of one of the dorm showers with all of his clothes on, eating an orange wedge lathered in mustard from the cafeteria, and blowing up a rubber balloon exactly seven times in hopes that he’d get some ideas for his next project — but Akaashi didn’t question it). He could deal with his off-key humming when he paints, or the loud, messy scrawl of his pencil on his papers when doing his homework. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>deal with the early alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi’s favorite thing to do was stay up late. No one could bother him while he was what felt like the only one up, and he often liked to find things to keep himself busy. Now that he was on his own without the supervision of his moms, he liked to explore the campus at night, or maybe take the train to a different area of the city to find something new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Late nights were exciting, the desolation and quiet more than inviting to him, where most people would avoid it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d already asked Kuroo what he should do about Bokuto, in which he got the same answer he’d been trying to speak </span>
  <em>
    <span>out </span>
  </em>
  <span>of existence — early birds for roommates was in fact a petty reason, and Akaashi couldn’t get out of it, no matter how many </span>
  <em>
    <span>exaggerated truths </span>
  </em>
  <span>he sprinkled over it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was stuck with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi could already feel his soul draining from his feet at the thought of spending months with Bokuto every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t let it ruin everything, but it sure felt pretty up there on his personal list of Things That Can Make College Suck Complete Ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto Kouratou was quickly pushing himself to the top of the list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—shi, please stop spacing out. We’re supposed to be on a date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi blinks into Kuroo’s eyes, staring at him, his eyebrows together as he wears a frown as if he truly was upset Akaashi was zoning out, somehow making him blush at the statement regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop that?” Akaashi asks, looking around them as if someone would hear, college students keeping to themselves at cherry wood tables while murmurs replaced the soft music from the radio in the corner. “We are not on a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d found themselves at the residential cafe after their Japanese Literature class today, a homey and small building that seemed to be stained with the smell of dark roast and candy sugar. Akaashi liked it in here because it was always warm from the milk steamers, and there was a window in the corner that sat tall above them, soft light settling in through radius windows as it dripped off of their rainbow arches and vinyl glass panes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi liked the way the shapes looked on the table, or how his hands looked when he let them sit on the polished wood, or his tea after he stirred it, the sun rousing bisque into his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides that, the tea he asked for tasted exactly like it was made with honey Melisseus crafted himself and Akaashi could </span>
  <em>
    <span>most definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>get used to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sips it, both hands on the cup, and he wipes away the steam on his frames with his hoodie sleeve before looking back up at Kuroo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. We’re not on a date.” Kuroo says, nodding, as if he finally understood a hidden meaning to Akaashi’s statements. “You’d save those for Bokuto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi flushes a darker tint of rose petal and looks away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can’t stand him.” Akaashi shoots him an exhausted glare, remembering one of his many conversations with Bokuto (that often ended up unfinished or twisted into narrow-minded arguments), and feeling his blood boil. “I’ve literally only lived with him for like, three weeks and wanna move out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lack patience,” Kuroo suggests, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Akaashi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Kuroo was being honest, Akaashi </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>look like shit, weariness painting his face in neon greens for the entire world to see. He felt for him, but at the same time, knew Bokuto was just being an ass on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would take time for him to get bored of it, wouldn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, for bullshit. And Bokuto seems to enjoy spewing it every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo snickers and tilts his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a matter of time before you realize you’ve been in love with him the whole time, and that’s why you felt the need to compete with him since high school.” Kuroo glances at his textbook, reading a few sentences on the sleek pages before speaking. “You’ve ever seen Romeo and Juliet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi rolls his eyes, but they felt like they should have gotten stuck as sleep sticks to his eyelids. “You are ridiculous. If I was allowed to punch anyone in the face with no consequences, it’d be Bokuto ten times over. And that movie has literally nothing to do with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo smiles lazily, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward to get out of his last position, the wood of the chair digging into his spine and making his back ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just can’t believe you actually have him for a roommate. This is too good. It’s like someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>you two hated each other, and put you together.” Kuroo says, finding amusement at this whole situation. “I totally called it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi resists the urge to roll his eyes again as Kuroo brings up a finger to his chin, tapping on it, his eyes at the ceiling in serious thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I should drop out and become a traveling psychic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely not. And...I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, per se...Just wanna kick his ass at everything. Like, everything, so he could shut up. You know he’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>art</span>
  </em>
  <span> major, too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi sighs and rubs his eyes with his fingertips beneath his glasses, still slightly raw from lack of sleep and leftover irritation from the morning, defeat clinging to his words as they left his mouth, gluey. “Of course, it had to be me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just bad luck, is all,” Kuroo says, voice level. “You gotta learn to enjoy the times when he's not getting on your nerves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so, never.” Akaashi shakes his head and Kuroo sighs, bringing his lips into a tight line and making his cheeks jut out, trying to figure out what to say. Many times, when Akaashi has come to him with a dilemma, they’ve always worked out a solution together. But they were both at a loss, and Akaashi knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs again, looking into his tea. “I just need to wait it out, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo nods firmly, remembering their plan for after this semester.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All we need is for the rest of the year. Then we could get an apartment together, as we planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that tiny sliver of hope was enough for Akaashi to not feel so reluctant to go home later. Kuroo had a knack for making shitty situations less shitty, speaking of hope and tiny expectations that couldn't be broken, expectations that Akaashi could actually hold onto, since they’ve been friends. He was shining, in all of his sanguine cynosure, brightening the darkest corners of Akaashi’s head more times than not with a candlelight smile that made things feel okay, at least for the time being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was very thankful to have him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi then remembers why he asked Kuroo to hang out in the first place, his photography assignment coming to mind as Kuroo sips from the black straw sat in his iced coffee, his eyes running over his textbook flipped open in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo. I have an important question for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo shakes his head immediately, and despite knowing he was going to say something dumb, Akaashi feels his heart pitfall slightly at the ploy of rejection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna get married until I’m twenty-nine exactly,” Kuroo says, seemingly serious. “So we will have to wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi’s eyes blow wide and he stares at Kuroo as he laughs at him, slight mortification sitting on his shoulders as Kuroo makes embarrassing him seem effortless. He was too much of a flirt for his own good.</span>
</p><p><em><span>Just like</span></em> <em><span>Bokuto</span></em><span>.</span></p><p>
  <span>“I hate you,” Akaashi says, and Kuroo looks up at the ceiling in agreement, crossing his arms over his chest. “That is not my question, Kuroo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else could be that important, Akaashi?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi brings a hand up to smooth his hair back from his forehead, staring into his cup of tea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a photography assignment due next week. We have to show motion. I could take care of the development, but I just need a model.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cool with that. When do we start?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi thinks into the table, puts his ideas onto the polished wood for him to reorganize before telling them to Kuroo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow. We’ll go somewhere. Wear comfy clothes. But <em>nice</em> comfy clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo’s eyes gleam, kindling embers behind a mocha gaze. “We’re going on an adventure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi nods. “We’re going on an adventure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, Akaashi asks about Kenma to take the attention off of himself for a while, and as Kuroo was talking about his own roommate and how wonderful it was to live with someone like him, Akaashi can’t help but feel a little envious that Kenma was both respectful and nice, albeit very quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo had already introduced him to his various hobbies, including catfishing on online gaming servers (in which Akaashi was very surprised to learn Kenma found it funny, too), and they were getting along very well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi just hoped he didn’t taint him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apart from that, dealing with Bokuto as his roommate was yet another expectation that had been thrown out the window, crumbling from his hands in less than a week. He didn’t hope for much, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ramen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Akaashi gets home, there are pieces of notebook paper scattered all over the floor, chicken-scratch haphazardly scrawled over them, lost ideas at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Bokuto deep in concentration, thick, silver eyebrows pulled together as his eyes trail over the canvas in front of him, dusted a light violet on a tiny, black easel from what Akaashi could see by the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paintbrush he was holding is balanced in between his middle and forefinger knuckles as he tries to figure something out, the ends coated in lavender honey, begging to create an image already. His lips are in a pout as he rhythmically taps his heel on the ground, a thin, black headband keeping his white hair out of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi tries to ignore the lollipop in between those same lips, glossed a dark red from the cherry candy, or the light dusting of peaches on his cheeks, or how the air has changed completely from how it was these first few weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuts the door behind him once he sets the box holding his outside shoes down beside it, not bothering to greet Bokuto or break him out of his concentration so that he would stay quiet for as long as possible. He lets his eyes trail over to the pieces of notebook paper on the floor, trying his best to step over them and not make too much noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what it was like to try and find inspiration, so he didn’t try to pick them up or mess with them in any way. Bad juju or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words and phrases like </span>
  <em>
    <span>clouds </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sunset with gradient? maybe birds and streetlamps? </span>
  </em>
  <span>were written on the pieces of paper, telling Akaashi that Bokuto had been trying to search for some kind of starting point while he’d been out with Kuroo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, Pretty Boy!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi cringes, his stomach falling as if he’d got caught doing something illegal, and he stops, his backpack feeling a million times heavier from where it was hanging from his shoulder. He couldn’t believe he had the audacity to talk to him like it was nothing, especially not after their many bouts of arguing and giving each other more reasons to dislike each other since high school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he was greeting him as if they were friends? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbelievable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.” Akaashi makes his way to his desk, eyes trained on the floor. “What do you want, Bokuto?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto huffs into the air, and Akaashi looks at him, his oversized sweater pooling over his sleeve from where it was pulled up above his forearm for the paint to not stain the fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Bokuto blinks at the canvas as if an idea would slap him across the face and make him finish. “I have a project due by the end of the week, but have no clue what to paint. Any suggestions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Akaashi sits at his desk across from Bokuto, setting his backpack down and trying to ignore him. “None.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wait until you have an idea.” Akaashi shakes his head, wanting him to just leave him alone. “That’s what I do. You can’t force good art, Bokuto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears Bokuto sigh and the sound of wood against a mason jar, like bamboo windchimes dancing in warm breezes, and Akaashi wished he could have caught the color of the water before sitting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he was being honest, acrylic was his worst medium, and for Bokuto to major in painting with it seemingly as his primary, he found it very impressive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly squashes the thought under his heel as quickly as it had sprouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, all this focusing is making me hungry.” Bokuto takes off the headband and lets his hair fall over his forehead, not styled back like it usually was. “Let’s go on a date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi balks in horror and his heart skips at that, the invitation somewhat appealing had it come from anyone else. And the thought of Bokuto taking him on a date made his stomach churn, but he was not sure if it was in a good way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi pulls a single black folder from his backpack, the word MATH written in bold, silver Sharpie marker smack in the middle, before shaking his head once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?” He could practically see the pout on Bokuto’s lips as he stares at him, and his eyes are so obviously on him that it makes him feel uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whenever someone stared at you for too long, they had more chances to see something that you hated. Akaashi didn’t like the beauty marks that were scattered across his shoulders, and despite wearing a sweater, he was uncomfortable with the fact that Bokuto could probably see them poking out beneath his collar, giving him something else to tease him about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns around in his chair to face him, pressing his specs up his nose bridge as they slid down from the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi wants to be mean, but in the way Bokuto was beaming at him with an innocent radiance once he got him to face him, as if he really expected him to agree, he feels the desire to break him down seep out of his blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was kind of angry at himself for having way too many soft spots for way too many people, Bokuto’s especially irritating him. </span>
  <span>There was something about the dried paint on his fingertips and smeared in the middle of his forehead that he found endearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humbling, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This boy, who seemed bigger than anyone and everything, looking small in a huge sweater, messy with paint from something he loved to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In another life, Akaashi feels like they would have gotten along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuts his eyes and lets a breath out, deciding on a simple answer, rather than an insult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll buy you ramen!” Bokuto pleads. “Pretty please? Yukippe is busy and I don’t have another friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi shakes his head again, turning away from Bokuto and opening his math folder, a small packet of equations staring back at him. He hated math with a passion, and the addition of Bokuto’s incessant pestering made him want to jump out the window again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets his mind jump instead, free-falling to the ground beneath them with a 360 heelflip and a perfect landing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get another friend out of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto huffs, getting up from his bed, the mattress shouting. “Fine. I’ll take myself out. Maybe get married, too, since I’m the only one I could rely on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves with a childish huff, shutting the door behind him, and Akaashi lets out another breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels even more irritated that he was now beginning to worry as time passed. With his luck, Bokuto would get run over or a piano would fall on him or something, and the police would come to him first since he’d be the last person who ever saw him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then with even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his luck, he’d be the one they send to jail because he would be too nervous to be of any help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he also had homework</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and despite not really striving for a perfect GPA, he still didn’t want to fall behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would feel so guilty had something actually happened to him, though. He’s watched enough murder mysteries to know this is exactly how it starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi throws his head back and groans into the air, his math packet still in its spot from where it was in the folder as a wave of conflict makes its way into his chest. He gets up from his swivel chair before he had another round of second thoughts, grabbing his phone and wallet from the front of his backpack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto was already so exhausting, and he wasn’t even here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi quickly goes out into the hall, seeing nobody in it, save for a few boys bringing green bottles of alcohol back to their dorm. He pretends he doesn't see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto might not have been far, and knowing him, he might still be on the first floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi sighs again, not sure what’s really prompting him to chase after his dumb roommate, but he finds himself jogging down a flight of stairs with his shoebox tucked under his arm, hoping to catch him before he got himself lost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~⚘~</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akaashi didn’t even bother taking in the sights from their new city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering he’d already seen everything there is to see within the first week of moving here with Kuroo, he didn’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sightsee at night. The buildings were blurred and the streets were mirrors, constantly wet with the sporadic showers that came with August. It smelled of earth and yakiniku as soon as he turned the corner, bright lights reflecting off of rain puddles and winking at him as he walked past signs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like this part of town never slept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides that, his main goal was finding Bokuto to make sure he wasn’t getting himself in trouble, so he didn’t study his surroundings all that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was able to find two ramen shops in his GPS, one about a block away, and the other being three stations away from the university. Analytically speaking, Akaashi thinks Bokuto wouldn’t have gone too far for food, so he finds himself pushing the doors open to the small ramen shop beside the Cafe Kohi down the block.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He greets the chef as they make eye contact for a moment, his old skin glossed with a sheen of sweat over it from the heat of the gas stoves behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi lets his eyes run over the booth, completely empty save for a familiar boy in a big sweater, the blue fabric engulfing him in sapphires as he lightly kicks his legs against the stool, happily eating ramen as if it was the best thing in the entire world for him to be eating, a smile on his lips and his eyes blissfully shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the dim lights, Bokuto radiated, supernovas burning beneath his skin while everyone else stood by, looming around him like moons. He caught Akaashi’s focus without effort, and Akaashi thinks that was the most dangerous thing about him, to hold anticipation without realizing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon seeing him, though, Akaashi almost sighs in relief, but there was another part of him that wanted to sigh in annoyance because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bokuto would be fine, and that his paranoia over the person that made his senior year the least remarkable experience of his life, was all for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly turns to leave before there are golden eyes holding his own, and Bokuto sucks up the noodles from the fancy wooden chopsticks they offered here, his cheeks puffy with the dish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akaashi!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi could have sworn there was a glint in his eye before he looked away from him, the floor seemingly more interesting than the conversation he knew was about to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t resist me, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi glares at Bokuto at that comment, his heart putting its defenses down once he sees the scarlet blush on Bokuto’s cheeks from the heat of the ramen, and the speck of scallion at the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was such a damn child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Akaashi shakes his head and focuses on his eyes (which </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>somehow made his stomach ride loops, like rollercoasters in the summer). “I came because I knew you’d get yourself into trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto nods and slurps more noodles into his mouth. The break of eye contact leaves Akaashi at a loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, right. You don’t have to lie, ‘Kaashi. I know I am your favorite person existing right now. I would almost think you were in love with me, since you came all this way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was almost enough to get Akaaashi to walk back home, before Bokuto snickered at his own antics and asked the chef for another bowl of ramen for Akaashi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since you came, I will now buy you dinner!” Bokuto says, swiveling the stool a bit to face Akaashi straight on. He sticks his hand out and gestures excitedly at himself. “Come sit with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi sighs, wanting to deflect and go back home. It was too late, however, Bokuto had easily trapped him. He could feel the sticky webs on his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew this was a bad idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, as he was clutching his phone and wallet, he thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> he bring his wallet in the first place? Because he knew he’d eventually eat with Bokuto anyway, or because he was scared someone would steal it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no reports of thieves in their dorm, so that last point was invalid, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi sometimes couldn’t find decent reasons for things he did, and this moment was exactly one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits down beside Bokuto reluctantly, the faint hints of powdered pigment and broth perfuming his own clothes just as quickly as it had Bokuto’s. He doesn’t speak and keeps his eyes on his fingers from where they sat on the booth, silver rings glinting in the lights above them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto’s eyes sit on him for a moment, taking him in, and Akaashi sees him tilt his head in his peripherals, as if curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you came for me,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi quickly looks at him, eyes striking blue lightning into Bokuto’s skull that he hoped fried his brain. “My hero!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not come because I wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you. I came because I was worried.” Akaashi adds a little sting to his voice, hoping Bokuto got the memo. He wasn’t sure if he was getting it himself. “We are not friends, remember that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto smiles dismissively and goes back to his ramen, seeing through Akaashi’s thin barriers, breaking them down easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we weren’t friends, then why worry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Akaashi wants to yell at him to stop talking because he was very close to correct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried, </span>
  </em>
  <span>huh?” Bokuto brings the bowl up to his lips and finishes the meal off, sighing into the air and wiping his mouth with his sweater sleeve. He was just as sloppy as he was in high school. “My ass. You wanted to eat with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would’ve rather stayed home, honestly. But you seem like the type to accidentally walk into traffic and I didn’t want a guilty conscience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto hums, Akaashi’s toxicity completely lost on him as he reaches up to grab the ramen bowl from the chef, carefully placing it down in front of Akaashi so as to not burn either of them. Steam rose from the bowl and coated his specs, making him sigh at the extra inconvenience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi takes them off as the sharp aroma hits his nose, more prominent now that it was in front of him. He shakes his arm a bit for his sweater sleeve to fall over his fingers, gently wiping the condensation from his frames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only when he was about to put them on, that he saw Bokuto staring at him, like he’d strayed off of a path he’s walked hundreds of times, golden eyes inquisitive as they flick to his nose once, then his glasses, then to his mouth, then back up to his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi quickly looks at his bowl, his appetite completely gone as stones sit in his stomach, the tip of his ears hot because he was...what? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flustered? Irritated? A mix of both?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Akaashi asks, perching his glasses on his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you had a nose ring,” Bokuto says, his mouth half-open in a little spectacular smile, and Akaashi could have sworn there were stars in his throat as he taps the side of his own nose cutely, as if Akaashi hadn’t heard him. His eyes were gleaming with awe as he stared at Akaashi’s nose. “I’ve never seen one on a boy before! It looks really nice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi twists his excited words into meaning something less than, convinces himself that Bokuto meant the ring itself was nice, rather than the way it looked in his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to take it out and burn it now that Bokuto had noticed it, but there was no way he’d be able to with all these people around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, he has a hard time distinguishing a joke from Bokuto, and he was not going to set himself up to be the butt of another, so he stays quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, please eat,” Bokuto says, gesturing to the bowl sitting in front of Akaashi, his attention on something else. “Don’t have me pay just for you to watch it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi blinks at the bowl, the tonkatsu bringing a warmth to him that he remembers most vividly from when he was little. Despite wanting to not eat it out of spite, he decided that he would be smothered with even more guilt had he truly made Bokuto pay for it and not eat it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up the wooden chopsticks and sighs. “Fine. But I’m paying for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad! I already put it on my tab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi huffs and practically stabs one of the halves of egg with his chopsticks, blowing on it to try and cool it down so he could angrily eat in retaliation for Bokuto's stubbornness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy smiles happily, before gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I saw you had a volleyball trophy on your desk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi was not one for small talk, to begin with, much less with someone who he couldn’t stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The topic was one of his favorites, often talking to Kuroo about his time playing for a college and the wishes he had for himself back then. But now, as Bokuto seemed interested, he wanted to lie and say that it wasn’t his, maybe he was only holding it for Kuroo while he got settled into his apartment so he didn’t have to taint a subject with Bokuto’s input.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes. I was part of the volleyball team at Yakosei for like...two years, maybe. It was fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilty conscience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a pain in the ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yakosei?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bokuto’s voice bounces around the room at the mention, his mouth pouting a bit as his lips curve over the name. “How did you manage that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi shrugs one shoulder, apathetic. “They didn’t know I was still in high school. You don’t need to be a student there to try out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come you never played for our school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were many unappealing reasons for not participating in literally any kind of club in high school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi could choose from any of his personal favorites, including A) that he hated the unnecessary unfriendly competition between your own teammates driven by a spike in hormones B) high school kids were shitty and judged you immensely for any slip up that could have cost a victory C) the coaches were all old and mean and D) he knew Bokuto made the team for the spring season, and he did not want to have anything to do with him while he could help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to tell him that last one, but he knew it would sound childish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decides to go with B.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just didn’t want to. I didn’t really like taking part in things within school. If you fuck up, everyone remembers. It’s different playing in front of a bunch of strangers.” Akaashi pulls noodles into his mouth, and it is just as good as Bokuto made it look like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi keeps his expression flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is true.” Bokuto looks away, and there’s that sweeping voice again as he taps his forefinger on his bottom lip in thought. “But even then, you could have still had that different high school experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I felt like I could have done better playing for a harder team, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you were able to keep up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi nods, trying not to pull any satisfaction from the way Bokuto sounded thoroughly impressed by him. He hadn’t heard of Bokuto playing for college teams when he was in high school, so this slight one-up made him feel big.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe valedictorian wasn’t such a big thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Akaashi says. “Definitely not the worst setter on the team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. I didn’t know you could do that! Playing for a college team as a setter, I mean. That’s really cool!” Bokuto says. “Maybe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> have some talent, Pretty Boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn. <em>Just</em></span>
  <span> when Akaashi was beginning to tolerate him speaking to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? And I have yet to see what you can do.” Akaashi would be damned had he let him slide, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides being better than you? Many things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi clenches his teeth around the chopsticks in his mouth, his cheeks tinted a permanent pink from the remark. He almost wished Bokuto would look mad or something, to really </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>those comments. Every time, he’s smiling, proving to Akaashi that he was just teasing him for kicks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was frustrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want a challenge? Fine.” Bokuto holds onto the edge of the counter and leans his stool back a little, keeping himself balanced on the two back rubber feet. “One day, I’ll paint the most beautiful picture for you. It’s gonna knock your socks off. You could put it on your wall. Maybe it would make it be less ugly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi smiles and shakes his head, scooting the other half of the egg around with his chopsticks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Until then, you are still talentless to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto squeezes his eyes shut as he lands the rest of the feet of his stool back on the ground, his hand clutching his sweater where his heart was.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aghaashi!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You wound me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi ignores Bokuto’s antics, and instead, as Bokuto begins to talk about the volleyball team at their high school, he lets his mind wander to his photography project that he was hoping to score at least a B on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to think of places to take Kuroo, starting now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. katsudon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!!</p><p>i've started another semester and i know i'll be kinda busier starting next week so updates might be a little slower ;-; i'm sorry if you were hoping for quicker ones!! </p><p>i am still writing though, and plan to finish this au out, so we will get there one way or another ^-^</p><p>pls enjoy!</p><p>p.s. there is a bitttt of an overreaction and profanity but i promise it's for plot purposes hhh beware</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi walks into his dorm today, his photos of Kuroo in a manilla folder under his arm, an okaka onigiri in his hand from his pitstop at the Don Quijote.</p><p>He finds Bokuto on the floor in the middle of their beds, an even bigger canvas propped up on the tiny easel he had. His lips are stained with rubies from the cherry candy he had in his mouth, while daffodils bloomed beneath his skin, the setting sun painting him in gold from their window. There is dried acrylic paint streaked over his cheeks and forehead, and Akaashi wonders just how messy of a person you’d have to be to get paint on your face like that.</p><p>He shuts the door quietly behind him, making a beeline straight to his desk without saying anything to him, wanting to get started on the homework he’d put away for today without any obstacles that came with Bokuto.</p><p>He plops himself down on his rolly chair, swiveling his butt to the right, then to the left, as he pulls out his Japanese Literature folder this time. Surprisingly, Bokuto doesn’t say anything to him either, too wrapped up in what he was doing, and despite always hoping for moments of silence like this, Akaashi couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.</p><p>Within their almost-month of living together, Akaashi has become accustomed to Bokuto’s voice filling up the empty spaces he left for him, whether it be telling him stories about high school or summer vacation, asking him about himself or whomever else made their cameos in his head.</p><p>And despite Akaashi always acting annoyed, as if he was forced to hear him talk and didn’t have the option to leave, he didn’t mind it. Besides, it was good when he was doing work, because he didn’t have to respond so much without making excuses, and Bokuto was almost as good as background noise.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>But Akaashi says nothing still, doesn’t want to break the quiet that they fell into, save for the sparse sounds of glass gently clinking together, a mortar crushing dry pigments, brushes mixing soft paints, the works.</p><p>Akaashi discovered, over these past few weeks of living with Bokuto, that he enjoyed the sound of him mixing paint within the silence, especially when he was busy himself.</p><p>The afternoon rolled into evening quickly, the warm bronze that previously flooded their dorm being replaced with a cold navy eve that smothered the city, crystalline stars squinting at him through the window on Bokuto’s side of the room. The moon smiles once Akaashi looks over his shoulder at it, telling him that maybe, it was time for a dinner break.</p><p>It has been hours, and yet, Bokuto hasn’t said a word, save for the occasional hums as a new idea landed and he needed to get it out onto the canvas as quickly as possible.</p><p>Akaashi glances at the gardening calendar he’d bought from Don Quijote, just for the flowers, already filled out with his schedule and any upcoming tests he had for the rest of the week. He had his photography class tomorrow, and the volleyball game at night, but other than that, he had nothing to do. </p><p>He stands up and tries to think of something to do in between, letting the chair roll away from him, reaching up to the ceiling.</p><p>“Akaashi!” And the boy in question’s face falls, practically feeling the peace that had built itself up shatter at his feet. “I finally made that painting for tomorrow,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi stares into his papers as he listens, hoping that this would be a normal conversation. “You were right. Waiting did help. You wanna see it?”</p><p>Akaashi has half a mind to say <em> hell no, </em>to shut Bokuto out, but he takes a breath and sighs it out through his nose, mentally preparing himself for talking to him, before turning around over his shoulder.</p><p>“What was the assignment?” Akaashi asks, somehow finding the way Bokuto is looking at the canvas annoying.</p><p>“Intros.” He says, blinking, his hands gingerly holding his art like it was made of porcelain, as if the paint was silk. His voice is soft as he looks down at his work. “A painting that tells about the artist.”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t say anything else, and instead lets Bokuto hand it to him after looking it over himself once.</p><p>To say he was stunned wasn’t enough.</p><p>Akaaashi’s lips part and his eyes gave way to the fact that this was kind of impressive, but he quickly made a face as if he was indifferent, knowing Bokuto was watching his reaction and he didn’t want to give him that peace of mind.</p><p>There’s a pretty navy gradient brushed across the expanse of the canvas, serving as his background, with stars speckling the darkest part of his stratosphere. Trees and wildflowers are actively billowing and there is a bell jar housing a small light among them, a lemonade halo pressing their beaming fingers against the glass, almost eager.</p><p>It looked like a sun...or, maybe a fairy?</p><p>No, a sun.</p><p>The sun was practically begging to leave the glass, wanting to wander, yet it was completely trapped, as if it fully belonged here. In a world that seemed to suffocate with endless black hands, the sun fit perfectly within its recesses, cut off by an invisible pressure and still standing out amongst the shadows with a stark and lovely contrast.</p><p>Akaashi tries to understand it as just that — pressure.</p><p>Not to mention the technique that also told him a lot. </p><p>Bokuto used excessive amounts of thick paint, sometimes coming off of the surface of the canvas. <em> Impasto </em>, is what he remembers from art history. There are thinner pigments running down from the branches of the trees, telling him Bokuto didn’t use paint exclusively; he incorporated his paint water to somehow bring certain things together. There seemed to be places where he smashed his fingers in to blend rather than the brush, there were pigments that were not grounded all the way before their use, and wavering brushstrokes as if he deliberately changed their direction to throw off the viewer.</p><p>Now, he understood why Bokuto sometimes looked messy when painting, with colors on his knuckles and cheeks and nose. </p><p>It’s because he put every part of himself into the canvas and it sometimes swallowed him whole. </p><p>And Akaashi feels himself getting worked up to knock it down, a little jealousy bubbling in his chest and giving him the incentive to make Bokuto feel bad about this painting, but there was honestly no reason to. </p><p>It was more than beautiful and Akaashi did not know Bokuto had talent like this in him.</p><p>He would have expected a 2D painting, something novice or unsightly that would make anyone have a hard time understanding the message.</p><p>The message was clear, and the art was wonderful.</p><p>Akaashi wonders if his own photos did the same thing, if they told fables just as easily as Bokuto’s steady hands did.</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Akaashi shrugs dismissively once pulled back into his environment, not daring. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“I don’t expect you to get the message.” Bokuto quirks an eyebrow and sets the painting back on the canvas once Akaashi carefully gives it back to him, a jubilant grin on his face. “It might be too complex for a<em> salutatorian.” </em></p><p>“Oh, I get the message.” Akaashi pushes his hands into his pockets and goes to his tiny closet to pull on a hoodie, though he couldn’t focus anymore after seeing that painting. He felt the stars follow him, floating around him amongst the wildflowers like fireflies, the trees reaching out to him. “It’s that you’re a huge asshole. It’s pretty telling.”</p><p>Bokuto throws his head back and laughs, resounding and filling, Krakatoa erupting in his chest. Akaashi rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Maybe you are kind of funny, Pretty Boy.”</p><p>And it wasn’t even that funny, but Bokuto seemed exactly the type to laugh at stupid things, so there’s that.</p><p>“Whatever. I’m leaving.” Akaashi says finally, falling back into his routine of telling Bokuto whenever he did, just in case. </p><p>He gets his wallet out from the middle of his backpack, thrown in there after Kuroo warned him against thieves on their campus (and there weren’t, but Akaashi got paranoid pretty easily and Kuroo was <em> very </em>convincing).</p><p>And despite wanting to keep it to himself, he knew he should just start telling Bokuto where he’s going, because he would always ask in a way that was curious, rather than controlling. Akaashi never knew whether to find that sweet or aggravating.</p><p>“Dinner.” </p><p>Akaashi doesn’t give Bokuto a chance to ask more questions as he immediately shuts the door behind him, making his way to the red light district.</p><p>He would be traveling a little far just for some takeout, but he had made it a point to explore every part of the city as he could, with this particular place being one of his personal staples in fine cut cuisine.</p><p>As fine cut as takeout could be, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akaashi makes it to the red light district and back in no time, holding a white, plastic bag, heavy with a katsudon bowl waiting to be eaten, his shoebox tucked beneath his other arm.</p><p>The night was light on his shoulders as he made his way into the dorms, planning to eat by himself in the student lounge because nobody was really there at this time and he loved to take advantage of the silence. </p><p>He’s facing the staircase, before an idea hits him suddenly.</p><p>He’s never been on the roof before.</p><p>He used to sometimes go on the roof of his home back when he was little, to watch the stars or talk to the wind or dance with the sun, depending on how he was feeling. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, yet, to see if he was able to get onto the roof and meet with the moon again after all this time.</p><p>But he was also afraid of getting caught by the RAs; the embarrassment would kill him.</p><p>Akaashi thinks, as his body is willing itself through the door, if there was any harm in seeing. If one of the RAs caught him, he could probably worm his way out of the situation, considering he’s a freshman and all. </p><p>Stuff about losing his way to his dorm, or something.</p><p>He swallows, the aroma of the katsudon being replaced with the drywall as he pulls himself back down to earth, looking into the cobwebs in the corner of the stairway as he steps up onto one. Akaashi blinks, coming up with a lie that he thought was decent enough, before dashing up the stairs without giving him a chance to second guess himself, taking two at a time and hoping he didn’t slip in his shoes.</p><p>The night called for him as he got to a lone door at the very top, big, red letters reading EXIT above him, glowing like the neon signs he used to see at his favorite discount store. He presses his hand against the door, finding that it opened easily and did not cause emergency fire alarms to go off, and Akaashi quickly turns, holding the door open with his butt as he replaced his slippers for his outside shoes again, practically running towards the ledge of the empty roof to sit.</p><p>His entire night gets better when he sees there was no one here, when he sees the paradise that came with solitude and the way the sky whispered of no limits above him.</p><p>Akaashi feels the wind pick up once he sits on the ledge, letting it blow through his hair and ruffle the plastic bag he was carrying, before going to eat, his legs dangling over the edge as he kicks them, a silent happiness settling down beside him.</p><p>Much to Akaashi’s dismay, there wasn’t much to see up here, save for the roofs of the girls’ dorm across the street and other buildings. The roof was only about five stories, so Akaashi could see the sidewalk very well, and partly into the bright lights of the neighborhood. The Don Quijote was bright and still busy in the distance, telling him that it wasn’t that late, so he could probably pass the time making up outlandish stories about the people who passed by.</p><p>It was better to spend time by himself, anyway. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sound of the door to the roof opening shattered any kind of deep thought Akaashi had been in by now.</p><p>He snaps his head to the door, ready to swing his legs over so he could make a quick getaway had it really been an RA coming to scold him. </p><p>There weren’t cameras on the roof, were there? Who could know he was here?</p><p>His spirits die completely as he sees Bokuto walk through the door, his outside shoes on and unlaced as he beams at Akaashi in relief. He holds an arm out to wave at him, his eyes squeezed shut with a grin on his face.</p><p>“Akaashi! Hey!”</p><p>Akaashi sighs so heavily that he thinks it shakes the trees, trying to calm himself down as Bokuto practically runs over to him, probably to see what he was doing. The universe was not working in his favor today.</p><p>“What do you want, Bokuto?”</p><p>Bokuto looks out onto the cityscape to see what was so interesting to Akaashi up here, and he watches as Bokuto makes a face in confusion, before turning his attention back to Akaashi again, questions stuck to the roof of his mouth. Akaashi is reminded of Bokuto’s painting just by looking at him, as if it was a badge of honor to be carried around and not letting him forget about an impressive feat that he hadn’t expected. </p><p>He remembers the paint and blending and prettiness that had wound its way through the bristles of Bokuto’s many brushes, and over his fingertips. He looks away from him, hoping it would help him forget.</p><p>“I came here because I thought, maybe if I was up at higher ground, I’d be able to see you.”</p><p>Akaashi deadpans at the logic.<em> “Seriously? </em> There are a thousand people that walk around here, especially at night.”</p><p>Bokuto turns so that his back is facing the moon and rests his butt on the inside ledge, shrugging, staring at the laces of his shoes. “Yeah, but you would stand out to me.”</p><p>Akaashi flushes and looks at him incredulously, immediately working himself up to be irritated, wishing Bokuto would stop being so cheesy and stupid. </p><p>His thoughts smoke out and he finds himself staring at his side profile, eyes skating down his cheeks and the slant of his nose and how there were stray strands of white hair falling into his face, despite the headband trying to keep it back. Pale cheeks swiped with sun and rose petals sat high, while his lips stretched into a thin line, thinking.</p><p>Bokuto was looking into the floor, as if he had been speaking to himself, and Akaashi wondered if he did that a lot — zoning out when trying to find logical explanations, or talking to himself when he was nervous. </p><p>He caught attention so easily.</p><p>Even now, as the world has erupted in violets, Bokuto still glows against the stars, despite being enclosed in glass bell jars, halcyon on the soles of his shoes and mirages sitting on his shoulders.</p><p>Akaashi looks away, yelling at himself to stop thinking about Bokuto in ways that were other than someone he disliked, someone he couldn’t stand.</p><p>And the matter still stood, but it wasn’t until now that Akaashi thought he was beautiful at night, just as much as he was in the morning.</p><p>“Whatever. You’re not my parent.” He says, finally. “You didn’t need to come find me.”</p><p>“Neither did you. But what happened on Monday, huh?”</p><p>Akaashi feels eyes and a sugary grin boring holes into the side of his head as Bokuto lazily rolls his head to look at him, hoping for a reaction.</p><p>He scowls. “Just drop that.”</p><p>“Not until you admit that you’re in love with me.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs as his heart skyrockets, the comment making him flush once more and his butterflies scream at him. “You’re disgusting.”</p><p>“Yeah, disgustingly charming.”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t know how much he could take anymore, his chest being torn in half as Bokuto kept finding ways to turn his sour remarks into jokes, as if he was two feet tall and wasn’t worth taking seriously. It was a weird thought, and Akaashi knew that’s just how Bokuto was, somehow weaving insults and flattery into the same conversation.</p><p>Still, it made him angry. Angrier than he really cared to admit, really.</p><p>Akaashi swings his legs over the ledge and grabs the white bag with all of his trash to throw out later. “I’m leaving.”</p><p>“'Kaashi, you’ve got to lighten up!” Bokuto sighs almost wistfully into the air, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. He didn’t necessarily block Akaashi’s path, but he still felt like he did, and his breath hitches. “When you think about it, the only reason you don’t like me is because I got valedictorian when you didn’t.” Bokuto shrugs with an eye roll, starting his antics up again. “And that’s a fair point. I’d hate me too, honestly.”</p><p>“What are you getting at?” Akaashi asks, becoming increasingly annoyed with him as soon as he came onto the roof with him.</p><p>“I’m just saying we should move past that.” Akaashi’s eyebrows come together when he thinks maybe Bokuto was offering some sort of truce, the hope short-lived. “I think you should just accept the fact that I’m gonna be better than you at everything from now, rather than later.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs and quirks one eyebrow, flipping through his very short file of things he was better at in rebuttal. </p><p>“Is that so? I didn’t see you playing for college teams in high school.”</p><p>Bokuto has his jaw tilted into the air and there’s another stupid smirk playing at his mouth. </p><p>“Because I was too busy being a genius and making you feel dumb.”</p><p>“I bet you cheated on all your exams.”</p><p><em> “Akaashi! </em>I would never pull any dirty tricks like that. Maybe you did, considering you were a gifted kid and all.” Bokuto nods, sure of himself. “That burnout thing will do that to you, once test grades start to fall because you think you know the material already and homework is just a formality.”</p><p>Akaashi feels at a loss for words.</p><p>How the hell did Bokuto know that? </p><p>He felt like he had a crystal globe where his heart should be, and Bokuto was manipulating time to look back on exactly how he used to be. And it wasn’t a secret, it was more of those things that you buried and didn't let see the surface for as long as possible.</p><p>Bokuto somehow dug it up, and let the memories grow again, falling petals of past disappointment littering Akaashi’s earth.</p><p>“How did you know about that?”</p><p>“Because it’s obvious.” Bokuto shrugs, trying not to let his vindication be too obvious over Akaashi’s plight. “You getting so worked up over losing to me academically makes it make sense.”</p><p>Bokuto was reading him, and it pissed Akaashi off for him to be so transparent. In fact, this past month has been eating at Akaashi’s nerves, like termites to sogged wood, and he couldn’t shake the feeling before it got too strong.</p><p>He feels his blood boiling beneath his skin, burning his bones as he looks into Bokuto’s smug eyes.</p><p>He’s had enough.</p><p>“I’m so <em> fucking </em> sick of you.” Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s shirt collar and pulls him forward a little, the other raising his eyebrows in surprise before they relax, as if he had nothing to worry about. </p><p>His eyes trail to Akaashi’s lips, feeling his breath ghost over his mouth as he yells at him.</p><p>And Bokuto’s completely unbothered expression makes Akaashi’s temper run away from him as quickly as he’d kept it.</p><p>“You always find a way to piss me off on purpose and it makes you so <em> fucking </em> annoying. It’s like you get off on being an asshole. You are the worst roommate I’ve ever had, all you do is make a mess and too much noise when you paint your shitty art. Your tactics to gain inspiration are weird and you’re so loud all the time!” Akaashi tightens his grip on his shirt as he practically just finds things to complain about, pulling things from the depths of where his anger pooled, among many other reasons that got him so worked up. “And who the <em> fuck </em> does yoga at six in the morning?! When will you stop being so <em> goddamn selfish?!” </em></p><p>Bokuto’s lips stretch into a slow grin and the rest of Akaashi’s words crash in his throat, and he could practically see the smoke coming from his ears as his heart angrily beats against his fingertips from where they were coiled in Bokuto’s shirt. Even now, the air is heavy, as Bokuto glances at his mouth, surprised at the sudden outburst from Akaashi and relishing in the close proximity.</p><p>It was something he had expected, and as he looks into gunmetal fires, he thinks Akaashi was just as pretty as he was when he was calm, like his favorite beach before lightning storms. </p><p>Bokuto was always one for taking risks and doing irresponsible things so long as it didn’t hurt anyone. </p><p>This situation made him want to get Akaashi mad again.</p><p>Instead, he leans in, letting his mouth twist into a smirk.</p><p>Akaashi’s breath hitches and his expression falls into one of timidity, and Bokuto speaks, condescending in a way that made all of Akaashi’s courage dissipate as quickly as it had grown.</p><p>“You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look <em> stupid.” </em> </p><p>The fabric feels like steel wool in Akaashi’s hands as any tension had shattered from between them.</p><p>He shoves Bokuto away from him once another blush makes its way to his face, pressing the back of his hand to his cheeks to try and calm himself down as he makes his way to the door, embarrassment and irritation hitching a ride on his shoulders as he quickly leaves the roof and Bokuto behind.</p><p>Akaashi never really let things like that happen, knowing he was probably overreacting, but <em> fuck, </em>was Bokuto annoying. And he made him feel so small, without even doing much, dismissing his anger as easily as he'd sparked it. </p><p>And then to turn it into a flirt as if it didn’t phase him at all?</p><p>There was no way through Bokuto Koutarou, and Akaashi was quickly learning that the hard way.</p><p>What a pain in the ass.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. manilla folders</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!!</p><p>please enjoy these next few updates, i'm publishing everything i have so far until i could find time to write again. it's been a while, so thank you for coming back if you're still here!!</p><p>enjoy!! c:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi was never one to overreact, really.</p><p>An explosion of emotion was very rare for him. </p><p>He mostly kept to himself, never found himself to be loud, even when he should have been. He never cheered at games, or screamed when something scared him, and when he raised his voice, it was almost always because someone couldn’t hear him, or he needed to give a presentation in front of the class.</p><p>He hated drawing any <em>kind </em>of unwanted attention from anyone, often wearing dark colors to blend in at school, the idea of standing out horrifying to him.</p><p>So, to say he was embarrassed for getting mad at Bokuto the other night was an understatement.</p><p>Sure, he was irritating. Sure, he said things that made Akaashi’s skin crawl. <em> Sure</em>, he really should have expected this sooner or later.</p><p>But still. </p><p>Akaashi was not the type to blow up like that. </p><p>There was this weird tension in their dorm that only manifested when they were together. It was malleable, Akaashi finding it heavier when they made eye contact or passed by each other, or looser and barely-there unless he was thinking about him. It jumped on his bed at night within the silence and sat in his desk chair when he was doing homework, making itself <em>known </em>within the quiet, loud, and impertinent.</p><p>It was strange.</p><p>It felt like being constantly rained on, a thunderstorm cast overhead that you couldn’t escape, no matter how many times you tried to run. Rain pelted your skin from your own personal grey clouds, making you feel uncomfortable, thunder rumbling with the ruse of doom, maybe lightning in the distance to make you uneasy for a moment.</p><p>Being in the same room as Bokuto was just like that, with his heavy winds and constant showers taking up half of Akaashi’s days and all of his nighttimes..</p><p>The tension was very familiar, too, like it had never left him, despite it growing into something stronger by now.</p><p>Kind of like he was back in high school, when Bokuto had transferred and Akaashi had been unlucky enough to fall victim to his stupid flirting.</p><p>That <em>phase </em>Kuroo liked to bring up so much.</p><p>He couldn’t tell if he was angry that Bokuto brushed him off last night, or if he had been right. </p><p><em> Did </em>Akaashi want to kiss him? Was it one of those reverse psychology things where you hate someone because you secretly liked them a little bit more than average? Did Bokuto know about that reverse psychology thing?</p><p>Was it even a <em> thing? </em></p><p>There was nothing to like about Bokuto, save for the fact that he was good at everything. He <em>might </em>have had the prettiest eyes Akaashi had ever seen. Maybe he made good art.</p><p>But that’s it.</p><p>Akaashi feels like he should have become immune to the remarks that came with having Bokuto as a roommate, because that was just how he was, but that night proved that he was nowhere near as strong-willed as he hoped.</p><p>It was with deep regret to admit to himself that he did want to kiss Bokuto, maybe to shut him up while he still had control over the situation, to have a bit of satisfaction while they were together on the roof that night. </p><p>This whole thing threw him for too many loops. It was yet something else that Akaashi couldn’t find a decent reason for doing. He would get pissed when thinking about it, his heart would drop the same way as it did back in high school, his stomach would flip, his blood would boil.</p><p>It was weird.</p><p>Regardless, he sort of wanted to apologize, sort of also wanted to keep his mouth shut — maybe now, Bokuto would stop talking to him for good in fear of him blowing up like that again.</p><p>And the thought was immature, an idea that was wet behind the ears and naive, but it put his conscience at ease for a moment, making him feel less guilty.</p><p>...Maybe he should apologize to him the next chance he got.</p><p>No, no. </p><p>Yeah...no.</p><p>“What are you thinking about, Akaashi?”</p><p>Akaashi blinks, and finds himself in the student lounge with Kuroo sitting across from him, the cup of tea in front of him probably cold by now. He’d been lost in thought since he woke up this morning, his dorm shrouded in an increasingly bitter awkwardness that made him leave as quickly as humanly possible to avoid Bokuto as much as he could. </p><p>It’s been a few days since it happened, but the air was still off, stepping on his throat with a heavy boot as each day passed.</p><p>He wanted to spend more time on his hair today, maybe change the jewelry in his nose for the next couple of months, but being around Bokuto after that night made the ants under his skin angrier. </p><p>“I am thinking about Bokuto.”</p><p>Kuroo smiles with his eyebrows raised, amused with the conversation and it barely started. Akaashi finds his shame on the surface of the table, in his shoes, in Kuroo’s hair. He didn’t have a set place to keep his eyes because he’d be reminded of him. </p><p>It followed him around, a dark spirit that possessed his thoughts and mediated his actions. Akaashi would have believed he <em> was </em> being haunted, already living in his worst nightmare as Bokuto’s roommate.</p><p>“Oh, because of the other night?” Kuroo tilts his head. “I would have thought you’d say sorry by now.” </p><p>Kuroo seemed to know Akaashi just a bit better than he did himself. That was kind of worrisome.</p><p>“I can’t <em> just </em>say sorry.” Akaashi shakes his head, his pride quickly overshadowing his stigma. “It would be awkward. I feel like an asshole.”</p><p>“I mean...you should.” Kuroo nods with a shrug, and it humbles Akaashi once more as he breaks eye contact with him and instead stares into his tea. “But also, he provokes you on purpose. But <em> also</em>, that’s no excuse to almost beat him up.”</p><p>Akaashi pouts. “I didn’t almost <em> beat him up.” </em></p><p>“Sorry, I meant almost murder him on the roof of the dorms.”</p><p>“Jeez, Kuroo.”</p><p>They’re caught in an easy silence while Kuroo tries to come up with solutions, and Akaashi thinks of all the different excuses he could bring to the manager’s office to switch dorms. He would definitely get in trouble had he told the truth, so coming up with a lie would be a better option.</p><p>Or maybe transferring schools was a good idea after all.</p><p>“Well, if you don’t wanna say sorry…” Kuroo starts, lightly hitting his hand on the dark wood table to emphasize his point. “Make it up to him! Buy him a new shirt, or...his favorite food...or something.”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyebrows come together, not able to fathom the idea of going out of his way to do something nice for Bokuto while Kuroo made it seem like a normal thing. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“People love gifts, man. Get him something and he’s bound to put it past him.”</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head. “I don’t know if that will work.”</p><p>“You’d rather apologize?”</p><p>Akaashi squints. “I don’t want him to get that satisfaction.” </p><p>He watches as Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back in his chair, looking over him with a tiny grin on his face, as if he’s done this outstanding feat. “It’s amazing how much pettiness you hold inside your little body, Akaashi.”</p><p>“Kuroo, please be serious.” </p><p>“Hm...What’s his favorite food?”</p><p>“Um...I dunno.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Meat, probably. Fish, maybe. Or straight-up protein powder.” Akaashi thinks about the white stick that always seemed to grab his attention whenever he caught him painting in their dorm. “Cherry lollipops.”</p><p>“Take him to get yakiniku. Or sashimi. Buy him a bag of candy.” Kuroo shrugs one shoulder, looking at the ceiling. “He’ll forgive you.” </p><p>Akaashi sighs, the task feeling more daunting than just owning up to it and apologizing. He runs another hand through his hair, before pushing his specs up his nose and staring into his tea once more. “If I <em> must.” </em></p><p>“That’s the spirit.”</p><p>“What are you doing before the game today?” Akaashi asks, remembering that he had nothing to do after his photography class, hoping the change of subject would help him out. Plus, Akaashi always looked forward to spending time with Kuroo anyway, so it would be a surefire way to take his mind off of things until he had to go back to the dorm.</p><p>Kuroo shakes his head once and Akaashi feels his chest cave.</p><p>“I have a hot date with my laptop.” Kuroo raises his eyebrows suggestively and Akaashi feels physically ill as he waits for him to finish. “Me and Kenma are planning on getting to second base with the guys in the chatroom.”</p><p>Akaashi makes a face, remembering Kuroo liked to do that in his free time, as if it were a fun hobby, like skating or drawing. Not to mention he put Kenma on it, too. </p><p>Unbelievable. </p><p>“We should definitely hang out instead.”</p><p>“No way.” Kuroo shakes his head again. “I am booked.”</p><p>“What’s more important than hanging out with me? Catfishing dudes on the Tera servers?”</p><p>Kuroo nods with a slanted grin. “See, you get it.”</p><p>“You’re the absolute worst, Kuroo.”</p><p>“I love you very much, Akaashi. But I’m just a busy man, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs through his nose, but he wasn’t that desperate to hang out, and decided against asking Konoha to do something. He instead decided to explore some more of the city before nightfall, and see if he could maybe get a nap in before Bokuto came home from his last class for the day.</p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akaashi was freaking out.</p><p>In his bout of trying to leave the dorm quickly this morning, he only realized he'd forgotten his photos of Kuroo when he sat down in his seat beside Konoha. He is reminded of it when he saw Konoha’s red folder, the glossy corners of his own developed photos peeking out at him. </p><p>His manilla folder sat on his desk back at the dorms, and his heart was way too far in the pit of his stomach for him to try to reach it, to calm himself down.</p><p>His first assignment, and he forgets it on his desk.</p><p>The professor would be going over them, too. He was supposed to turn in his submission at the end of class. </p><p>And then, with his luck, she wouldn’t accept it if he brought it in a little later in the day, and then he would fail this class and have to drop out and move back home and hide under his bed for the rest of his life, wallowing in regret. He couldn’t deal with the embarrassment. He couldn’t—</p><p>“—kaashi.” Konoha lightly nudges him with his elbow, his voice like a sharp pick to ice as he whispers beside him. “You okay?”</p><p>Akaashi blinks, and watches their professor pace in the front of the classroom, holding photographs that he assumed she took herself in her hands as an example. She was probably around their age, maybe a little older. The chipped black polish that seemed to stain her nails gave it away.</p><p>Surely she would be okay with him bringing his photos late to her, right?</p><p>“Yeah…” Akaashi nods. </p><p>She definitely wouldn’t.</p><p>Besides, he didn’t want to bother Konoha with his irresponsibility, not wanting to give off bad impressions. They’ve known each other since the start of the semester, being casual friends in the classroom with homework texts between them here and there. He knew Konoha would probably try to help him, but still.</p><p>He didn’t want to be any kind of a burden, even if it was only a little bit.</p><p>Konoha glances at Akaashi once more, before turning his attention back to the professor. Akaashi begins to tap his heel rhythmically on the ground in stress, trying to figure out how to turn this into the best possible situation.</p><p>Worst case scenario, she’d just fail him and he’d have to struggle with bringing his grade back up before December.</p><p>Akaashi sighs through his nose at the sudden heaviness that flooded his chest and slumps back in his chair once the professor told them to discuss the assignment with one another, wanting the class to be over already so he could carry out some sort of plan before he forgot. His heart is beating, quick and heavy like timpani drums, and he could barely hear the professor as he thinks.</p><p>This was a mess. He wholeheartedly blames Bokuto.</p><p>If he hadn’t been so annoying, he wouldn't have gotten mad. </p><p>If he hadn’t been so annoying, he wouldn’t have rushed out of the dorm this morning. </p><p>If he hadn’t been so <em> annoying, </em>he wouldn’t be in this situation. </p><p>“How’d you like the assignment?” Konoha asks, turning himself on his stool to face him, giving him all of his attention.</p><p>Akaashi shrugs, faraway. He definitely would be more engaged had he had something to show for it, but Konoha’s words were crashing against brick walls and Akaashi’s mind had already run back to his dorm.</p><p>“...It was okay.” He suggests, eyes trained on the heel of his shoe, its cadence getting faster. “What did you do for it?”</p><p>Konoha runs a hand through his hair, taupe strands carding lazily through his fingers like sand in hourglasses, his sharp eyes flicking back and forth over his photos as he opens the red folder.</p><p>Akaashi really tries to focus on what Konoha was saying, wanting to be interested, <em> wanting </em> to talk to him without the stress of not having his own assignment with him. He’s half here, half scrambling around in his own head while fires light and outlets burst, trying to come up with a solution to it as smoke pools at the top of his skull.</p><p>He would need a miracle and a half to not fail this assignment now.</p><p>There are two loud knocks on the steel door at the front of the class, and it snaps Akaashi out of his train of thought, the loud discourse in the room being reduced to murmurs at the sudden heavy noise, before slowly again raising in volume, like riptides. </p><p>The professor gets up from her desk to open the door for whoever was on the other side.</p><p>Konoha stops talking and turns his attention to the door, prompting Akaashi to follow suit, curiosity buzzing around them, the flutter of their wings distracting.</p><p>His stomach falls to his feet when he sees a familiar boy with his white hair back in a headband, telling him he was in the middle of painting, or maybe just got out of art class for him to look like that. His breath is lost for a moment, and while he tries to hold onto it, Akaashi makes eye contact with him for a moment, Bokuto’s features softening and telling him he was relieved to see he’d entered the right classroom.</p><p>Akaashi almost wishes he wasn’t so far away, so he could see what color was streaked across his nose or chin today.</p><p>No, that was a weird thought.</p><p>He could barely hear what they were saying amongst the voices, swimming chin deep in low muttering just to get to them, his interest clouding everything else.</p><p>“...something to Akaashi Keiji.”</p><p>Akaashi’s heart thumps against his chest and it feels like his veins were going to explode beneath his fingertips. </p><p>Why was he <em> here? </em></p><p>“...can’t wait?” The professor asks, tilting her head at Bokuto, who was working up a good act in front of her, batting silver lashes and beaming halos in her face.</p><p>If only she knew the demon spawn behind those eyes.</p><p>“...N-no. He’s….roommate and he really...it’s important for him.”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyes flick to Bokuto’s hands, and almost misses the small reusable grocery bag that they gave away at Don Quijote once you spent enough money there, the one with the ridiculous cartoon face in the middle of it. The professor allows Bokuto to enter with a sigh dancing past her lips, notwithstanding reluctance. </p><p>Akaashi almost finds satisfaction in her slightly annoyed expression as she sits back down at her desk.</p><p>He watches him with wary eyes until they are locked with gold and a smile of auroras sits up along with it.</p><p>Akaashi looks at his bare desk, trying to figure out what Bokuto brought him, his heart in his throat, trying to fight with the fact that he was this flustered and they didn’t interact yet. Besides, it was probably something embarrassing and dumb, knowing him.</p><p>He prepares himself to yell at Bokuto back at their dorm later.</p><p>He looks up at him once more, sees white hair settled on black roots and pretty shaped eyes staring back at him, and a sickeningly sweet grin that somehow still made his heart take off in a mess of flutters and soars. </p><p>He glances away, feeling sticky in Bokuto’s saccharine smile.</p><p>“Hey, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto blares, and Akaashi grimaces. “Wow, don’t get too excited to see me.”</p><p>“Why are you here, Bokuto?” Akaashi practically whispers, despite the entire room being shrouded in voices from several handfuls of college kids.</p><p>And somehow, Akaashi feels embarrassed that he was here, as if there were spotlights on him and a microphone at his lips, the entire world waiting to hear him.</p><p>“I saw on your little flower calendar that you had this class now. I brought you a present~!” Bokuto gently sets the reusable bag on Akaashi’s desk. “You can thank me later by taking me on a date.”</p><p>“I will <em> never </em>want to go on a date with you.” Akaashi doesn’t look at the bag, and he hopes his scowl would strike Bokuto with lightning.</p><p>Instead, he grins wide. </p><p>Maybe he wasn’t glaring hard enough.</p><p>“You’re a very bad liar. It’s kinda cute.” Akaashi wants to push him to the ground at that, feeling a hot blush spark beneath his cheeks. “Anyway, I’ll see you later. And you’re welcome. Be more responsible, will you?”</p><p>Akaashi glowers until Bokuto leaves, seeing a few people glance in his direction from beside him, probably wondering why a guy with strangely dyed hair came out of nowhere to give him a mysterious blue bag with a cartoonish face on it.</p><p>Konoha is quiet, and Akaashi shoots him an apologetic smile before he takes the time to see what was inside the bag that was so important.</p><p>He really didn’t need this right now, especially when class was nearing its end and he knew he’d have to turn in the photos he didn’t have.</p><p>He sighs heavily, deciding to just humor him, peeling back the material of the bag with skeptical fingers and working himself up to be pissed off.</p><p>Inside of it was a manilla folder, a package of okaka onigiris with a folded note taped to it, and an aluminum can of espresso from Don Quijote.</p><p>Akaashi lets out a breath, looking to the ceiling. </p><p>He is <em> so </em>relieved, thankful that the universe was listening to him, that she decided to send him help...but in the form of Bokuto Koutarou. He wants to feel ungrateful, just out of spite, but he knew it would be in vain considering Bokuto wasn’t here to see it.</p><p>He silently adds it to the things he owed to him, instead.</p><p>“Who was that?” Konoha asks from beside him, his eyes on the manilla folder Akaashi pulled out of the bag, curious.</p><p>“My annoying ass roommate.” Akaashi shakes his head and unfolds the note from the onigiri, wanting to feel happy about the food he’d brought him, but knowing they were probably just being used as leverage for a bigger plan Bokuto had up his sleeve.</p><p>“Annoying? Dude, if my roommate brought me food without me asking, I would <em> actually </em> get on my knees for him.” Konoha nods, sure of himself, and Akaashi shakes his head with a grin.</p><p>“Sure, me too, if it was <em> anyone else.” </em></p><p>Akaashi didn’t trust these onigiris at all. </p><p>They were the same ones he’d bought for himself the other day, and despite actually liking them, there’s a weird itch clinging to the joints in his body when he thinks of Bokuto paying enough attention to him to remember something like this. </p><p>His heart goes for loops again, and he wonders how much time he has left until he starts to feel sick. </p><p>Letting his eyes skim over the note, in Bokuto’s handwriting that looked like it belonged spray-painted over cracked, concrete walls, he thinks that time is now.</p><p>
  <em> hey, pretty boy! you left these on your desk.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> dumbass.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i also brought you food...you seem to like these, so hopefully, i got it right! enjoy!  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> - from, the best roommate in the entire world! ôヮô </em>
</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. motorcycles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi toes his slippers off once he walked into his dorm, hoping <em> (okay </em> - more like praying) that Bokuto was out of the dorm while he still had time to think about Kuroo’s solutions and the rest of the world before the game started.</p><p>It’s been about two hours since he last spoke to Bokuto, seventy-one hours since that night.</p><p>Akaashi knew because he’d been counting. He liked to keep track of things that made him uncomfortable, because that way, by the end of it, he could finally be put at ease.</p><p>But it seems like the more he tried to stop thinking about it, the more he ended up harping on it. The minutes stretched into hours, each one like a leech on his back, sucking the soul from between his bones and under his skin.</p><p>He had spent the rest of the day by himself, trying to escape the memory of the week’s earlier events by browsing Don Quijote and exploring the small neighborhoods beside the campus. He was extremely unsuccessful in forgetting about Bokuto, finding his face in the onigiri and canned goods aisles. </p><p>It was strange. </p><p>Just yesterday, they weren’t speaking because of Akaashi’s childish reaction, and then today, Bokuto brought him his photos and lunch on top of that, as if nothing happened, as if <em> he </em>was the mature one out of the two of them.</p><p>Akaashi would never get it.</p><p>But of course, Bokuto was here, sitting crisscross-applesauce on his bed and leaning against the wall, a thin black paintbrush in between his fingers from where his arm rested on his knee. </p><p>Akaashi recognized the softer bristles of the brush – Bokuto was using watercolor today. </p><p>His hair was held back by a black band again, stray white and grey hairs sticking up beside his ears. His eyes were completely set on a sheet of thick paper in front of him, taped against a piece of cardboard, a white lollipop stick between his lips.</p><p>Akaashi watches as they purse a little, parting as Bokuto rolls the candy over his tongue, hearing the sound of it hit his teeth as he thinks of where to press the paint.</p><p>He feels a rush of heat flood his cheeks as he realizes he’d been staring, and quickly ducks his head as if it would make Bokuto never notice him, making his way to his tiny closet to pick out a thicker sweater for tonight, just in case.</p><p>He tries not to notice the few small canvases, heavy with paint, hung up by the door and above his own desk.</p><p>He <em> really </em>didn’t want to spend one on one time with Bokuto like Kuroo had suggested, more than he needed to. </p><p>Knowing Bokuto, if he did decide to buy him dinner, he would go all out and cause Akaashi to fall further into debt besides his university fees with his appetite. Or maybe, he would pester him with stupid jokes and surface insults for Akaashi to think about later, when the moon was out and the sun had swept away their conversations for him to not bring up again and he couldn’t say anything witty in rebuttal.</p><p>He definitely would not look forward to the apology regardless, so he might as well just tell him. </p><p>Or, maybe not.</p><p>Akaashi was stubborn on this one. </p><p>Despite the awkward silence that coated the walls and soaked into their mattresses, Akaashi tries to come up with literally any other way to apologize to him. Perhaps, he’d write it down, a simple <em> sorry, </em>on a piece of notebook paper, and crumble it up and throw it at Bokuto’s forehead in the middle of him painting. Maybe he’d whisper it while Bokuto was sleeping tonight, that way, if he didn’t catch it, it wouldn’t be Akaashi’s fault.</p><p>No, that was weird. Maybe–</p><p>“Akaashi, listen,” Bokuto says suddenly, making Akaashi seize up in his socks. His voice was soft, yet it tore through the quiet and filled his ears so quickly it frightened him. “I’ll forgive you for almost murdering me the other night, only if you take me on a date.”</p><p>Akaashi wants to know exactly what magic powers Bokuto Koutarou had to read his thoughts to easily like that, if he was still peering into the crystal ball that was housed in his chest. It’s like he <em> knew </em>it was on his mind.</p><p>Or maybe, he was also thinking about it, and just decided to be the one to break the silence first. He was being the bigger person <em> again. </em></p><p>Akaashi masks his embarrassment with annoyance.</p><p>“I will never take you on a date.” He tells him, not daring to turn around. He pretends he can’t find the sweater he was looking for, despite it staring right back at him in the corner. “I cannot stand you.”</p><p>“Denial isn’t your best look, Pretty Boy.”</p><p>Akaashi’s face falls, and he sighs through his nose, trying to calm himself down as his heart threatens to flutter out of his throat at the nickname. “I’m serious.”</p><p>“What if I take <em> you </em>on a date?”</p><p>The proposal warrants a pause, and Bokuto smiles behind Akaashi’s back at the silence. He would definitely be having fun getting under Akaashi’s skin, even more so that he admitted <em>something </em>within that silence that he knows Akaashi wouldn’t ever care to verbally admit. </p><p>The other declines.</p><p>“Why not?” Bokuto prods. “You’ve ever ridden a motorcycle before?”</p><p>Akaashi tilts his head in thought, glancing over his shoulder at him. “A what?”</p><p>“A motorcycle.” Bokuto’s tone is flat and obvious, making Akaashi feel dumb, despite knowing that wasn’t what he meant. His voice is still sweet as he talks slowly, practically pronouncing every syllable for Akaashi. “You know, those big bikes that people drive. It has two wheels, and an engine...and—“</p><p>Akaashi scoffs. “You don’t have a—”</p><p>He then remembers the motorcycle he parked next to upon coming here, and his heart sinks. It definitely was there, definitely <em> existed</em>, sitting beside his own car in the underground parking lot, like a big, neon sign that screamed <em> hey! Bokuto is definitely cooler than you thought, isn’t he? </em> </p><p>Of course, that was Bokuto’s.</p><p><em> Of course, </em>he knows how to ride a fucking motorcycle.</p><p>What can’t he do?</p><p>He then imagines Bokuto riding it, wind slicking his hair back as the sun sets on the apples of his cheeks, a carefree aura to him that was just so fitting, it should have been photographed to set in museums. He thinks he would look pretty as warm amber drips over his skin, the clouds parting and the world stopping for him, like it always did, resembling scenes from classic novelty movies that never seemed to get old.</p><p>Akaashi looks back into the closet, silently asking his clothes for help.</p><p>“I’m...I’m going to the volleyball game with Kuroo and Konoha tonight, anyway.” He says to himself, shaking his head as if he was the one who needed the convincing, grabbing his black sweater from the corner of the closet. “So no. And to be clear, even if I didn’t have to go out with them, the answer would still be no.”</p><p>“What, is Kuroo your boyfriend or something?”</p><p>Akaashi almost chokes. The mention makes him think about that forbidden concept, and he imagines himself kissing Kuroo once and feels sick.</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Interesting. So you’re single <em> and </em> like boys?”</p><p>Akaashi feels embarrassed now that he was put on the spot like this.</p><p>It wasn’t something he was hiding. It was more something that he thought wasn’t really important to talk about, kind of like where he grew up or his eye color or where his family was from. No one really cares about that stuff. </p><p>He didn’t like to announce it, but he wouldn’t ever decline it, either.</p><p>Still, it’s humiliating, because Akaashi knows exactly why he’s asking, but he doesn’t want to think about it, scared that his heart would give him away and Bokuto would catch the blush that stained his cheeks, like an invitation.</p><p>“W-why are you asking, Bokuto?”</p><p>“To see how good my chances are, out of one hundred.”</p><p>“I’m leaving.” Akaashi makes a beeline to the door, ignoring Bokuto as he sat against his wall, legs bent and spread and taking up even more space than he usually did. “And your chances are in the negatives. Just saying.”</p><p>“Your chances would be in triple digits, you know.” Bokuto lets his head roll over to look at him as Akaashi turns over his shoulder to glare at him, hitching an eyebrow with his lips in a small smirk as if he was the only one in the world allowed to hold Bokuto’s eyes like that, making the butterflies in his stomach dive for cover. <em> “Just saying.” </em></p><p>And as Akaashi flushes an even deeper shade of crimson that he thinks should be medically concerning, he shuts the door behind him quickly and practically runs to Kuroo’s dorm down the hall, hiding his face behind the back of his hand.</p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Akaashi, every time I look at you when you’re thinking, you go through the five stages of grief simultaneously. It’s <em> fascinating.” </em></p><p>Akaashi pulls himself back to earth once Kuroo’s voice derails his train of thought, sitting on his own bed. Kuroo’s roommate was at his desk, a laptop in front of him displaying what looked like the Sims, his hair in his face and shrouding his field of vision, despite the majority of it being held back in a bun.</p><p>Kuroo was kind of right, anyway. </p><p>Any time Akaashi thought of Bokuto, he went through a mix of emotions that often had the same connotation — grief. Synonyms include (but are not limited to) stress. Annoyance. Irritation. Exasperation. </p><p>Constantly-thinking-of-punching-Bokuto-in-the-face.</p><p>Akaashi huffs, crossing his arms and swiveling himself away from Kuroo slightly. “Stop that.”</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Kuroo has a watery smile on his face as he leans forward, looking at Akaashi in his desk chair. “Don’t tell me it's Bokuto.”</p><p>Akaashi swallows and keeps his mouth shut, deciding that he wouldn’t tell him. Kuroo gasps and raises his eyebrows, surprised, even though he should have seen this coming.</p><p>“It <em> is </em>Bokuto!”</p><p>“Will you keep your voice down?” Akaashi whispers sharply, his eyes wide. </p><p>“What, you think Kenma’s gonna tell on you?” Kuroo asks, and the boy in question continues to play his game, ignoring Kuroo on purpose despite the mention of his name. “He barely listens to me, his own roommate! Could you believe it?”</p><p>“Can you blame him?” Akaashi shakes his head, and Kenma smiles at his laptop screen. “I wouldn’t, either.”</p><p>Kuroo screws his eyes shut as if he truly was hurt, gripping his shirt over his heart, fingers twisted in the fabric. “Sheesh! You break my heart, Akaashi!”</p><p>“Kuroo, can you please be serious?” Akaashi asks, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in the chair, letting his head hang over the top of it. “Bokuto is killing me.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“I forgot my photos on my desk because I was in a hurry to leave the dorm today, and you know what he did? He gave me my photos in the middle of class. <em> And </em>brought me lunch!” Akaashi emphasizes his point with a raise of his eyebrows, lurching forward a bit. “And he’s decorating the dorm with his stupid paintings!”</p><p>Kuroo blinks at him.</p><p>“I’m having trouble understanding what is so bad about that.”</p><p>“We are not friends!” Akaashi says. “Only friends do that for each other.”</p><p>“Well, maybe it’s time for a change. You can’t hate him forever, Akaashi.”</p><p>“He just…” Akaashi shakes his head and looks at his socks, one solid black and the other a light pink with cherries on it. He remembers when he got them at a sock market on vacation. “He makes me so mad. Like, he does everything better than me, it’s ridiculous. Did you know he drives that motorcycle we parked next to when we came up here? How the fuck does he know how to drive a <em> motorcycle?” </em></p><p>“Seriously?” Kuroo asks, his eyes holding the galaxy as awe laces his voice, and Akaashi tries not to understand why he looked like that. “He really could do everything.” </p><p>Akaashi groans and threads his hands through his hair, miffed. “I know! And he’s always making these dumb insults that are disguised as jokes. He still flirts like it’s nothing. He told me he’d forgive me if I went on a date with him. It’s so embarrassing.”</p><p>“Oh, dude, he’s totally in love with you.” Akaashi rolls his eyes and Kuroo makes a face, a suggestion on the tip of his tongue. “I think maybe you should give him a chance.”</p><p>“A chance?” That word feels foreign to say out loud, especially when it completely revolved around someone like Bokuto.</p><p>“Yeah. He might be turning over a new leaf.”</p><p>“He’s probably doing it to throw it back in my face later on.”</p><p>“Akaashi, you worry too much. College is a time for maturing.” Kuroo glances at the ceiling and shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe Bokuto has finally reached his peak. He probably just wanted to do something nice for you after you almost killed him on the roof.”</p><p>“Me and him would never work out as friends. Our personalities don’t match.”</p><p>Kuroo beams and points at Akaashi. “Opposites attract!”</p><p>“Fuck <em> that. </em>Bokuto being nice all of a sudden? There has to be a catch.”</p><p>“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kuroo shrugs again, and there is loud tapping on Kenma’s clicky keyboard in the short silence as he types in a cheat code, before Kuroo speaks up again. “Did you ever apologize to him?”</p><p>Akaashi swallows down a lump of humiliation and looks at his feet again, pushing his specs up his nose bridge. “...No.”</p><p>“Well, now you definitely have to take him out. Like, you must<em>. </em> He brought you lunch, man. There’s no getting around this.”</p><p>“I’d honestly rather eat a whole ass jean jacket.”</p><p>“Just pretend you’re going on a date with me. A less attractive, uncool version of me.” Akaashi gives him a look and Kuroo’s mouth stretches into a slanted grin. “That should make it better.”</p><p>“Pretending he’s you would make it a billion times worse, I think.”</p><p>“Well! You better come up with a solution, Akaashi!” Kuroo says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m out of ideas. The only thing–”</p><p>“H-hey.” Kenma turns over his shoulder to look at Kuroo and Akaashi, his voice light and quiet. It reminded Akaashi of soft blue chalk on a sidewalk in the summer. “You guys are...gonna miss the game. Seats fill quickly for volleyball, especially at the start of the season.” </p><p>“Oh, shit, yeah.” Kuroo gets out of bed and goes into his closet, pulling out a big hoodie for the gym, just in case. Akaashi recognizes it as the one he bought for him from Yakosei, the blue and white volleyball familiar. “Are you coming too, Kenma?”</p><p>Kenma shakes his head and swivels back around in his desk chair, his mind already back into the game as quickly as it had left. </p><p>“No...” There is more clicky keyboard sounds as he types in another cheat code, his voice giving away that he was barely there, completely focused on his game. “I’ll wait for you...so we could get dinner together.”</p><p>“You’d really wait for me? Kenma, I am gonna marry you.” Kuroo says, and Kenma makes a face into his computer screen as Kuroo lets Akaashi leave through the door first.</p><p>“You’re gonna make me throw up.” Akaashi tries not to laugh as Kuroo gasps softly, hurt. “Have a good time.”</p><p>And Akaashi <em> did </em>try to have a good time, but even among the shrill referee whistles, smothering cheering, and blaring buzzers that made his ears give out halfway through the game, he couldn’t. </p><p>His mind would slip back to Bokuto every time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. broken beds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the list of Things That Can Make College Suck Complete Ass, came Bokuto Koutarou. </p><p>Akaashi knew that, he just didn’t think he’d make it to the top of the list so quickly, surpassing literally everything else detrimental to the college experience in less than three minutes.</p><p>Akaashi was getting kind of used to sleeping with earplugs to block out his 6am alarm, but he was definitely not prepared for a sound so loud that it tore through them and woke him up with a start, despite having most of his hearing blocked through sponge plugs. </p><p>The sound of wooden planks breaking and a thud that sounded almost unreal, as if it was a sound effect for a cartoon.</p><p>Akaashi is catapulted from his sleep and lands face-first into the wall Bokuto had put up, feeling around the edge of his desk for his glasses with trembling fingertips, despite not being able to see in the dark regardless. It came from the other side of the room, and Akaashi squints, as if it would make the lights suddenly turn on and give him closure as to what was happening.</p><p>Bokuto was in the middle of the floor between their beds, and Akaashi could see that his bed was weirdly shaped, a huge dip in the direct middle of it while the headboard leans inwards.</p><p>Akaashi slowly takes his earplugs out, trying to calm his heart rate at the fright, before setting them on the desk, replacing them with his phone. He shines his flashlight in Bokuto’s direction, disoriented.</p><p>Bokuto’s bed is completely snapped in half, shaped in strange angles, his bedsheets pooled in the middle of the dip. Bokuto sits on the floor, leaning most of his weight onto his arms as he stares at it, his hair a mess.</p><p>Akaashi blinks, incredibly confused and tired and irritable.</p><p>“What the fuck.”</p><p>“...I broke the bed,” Bokuto says matter-of-factly, turning over his shoulder to look at Akaashi, completely normal as if this was nothing new.</p><p><em> “How?” </em>Akaashi asks, but his voice is so flat and pointed that it comes out more like a statement. </p><p>“Well...you know.” Bokuto sounds embarrassed, almost, and Akaashi checks the time on his phone, trying to calm himself down.</p><p>He hated being woken up at 6am every day, much less fucking 3:23 on a Wednesday morning.</p><p>“I do not.” Akaashi shakes his head, trying to come up with a remotely viable reason for Bokuto to have completely snapped his whole bed in two. <em> “...How?” </em></p><p>“I wanted to paint…” Bokuto tells him. “But had no ideas...And I know we have another project due in two weeks...so I thought jumping on my bed would help.”</p><p>Akaashi nods after a moment, his brain fried and soggy with exhaustion that he thinks that maybe acting like he understood what he was talking about might make it real, might give him something to work with.</p><p>It never did.</p><p>“Well, now you have no place to sleep,” Akaashi says, rubbing at his eyes and staring into Bokuto’s mattress, feeling his soul give in to the void and he wonders if this is what going to heaven feels like. Or hell, considering Bokuto was still here. “...Nowhere to sleep.”</p><p>Akaashi sees Bokuto quite literally deflate, his shoulders slumping, the strap of the black cotton tank top he was wearing sliding down taut muscles and peachy skin.</p><p>That should have woken Akaashi up a little more, but he was very slowly slipping back into unconsciousness and there was nothing stopping him from passing out against his pillows right at this moment.</p><p>Bokuto perks up once he gets an idea, and in turn, Akaashi’s eyes flutter open again, slow, trying to keep up.</p><p>“Hey! Can I sleep with you?”</p><p>Akaashi couldn’t register his question fast enough, and he was looking at a very excited Bokuto, sloppy and disheveled, but still grinning as if he didn’t have a destroyed bed behind him, as if the chaos in the room wasn’t anything to be moved by.</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>“Can I sleep with you instead?”</p><p>Akaashi takes his glasses off and sets them back on the edge of the desk, his awareness completely skewed and his ears made Bokuto’s voice sound swimmy.</p><p>“No...” Akaashi shakes his head, rubbing his eyes again and trying to form coherent sentences that would get his message across. “I do not want...sleep for you.”</p><p>“Please?” Bokuto asks, clasping his hands together. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor and I’m too scared to ask the manager for another bed at this time.”</p><p>The world falls stagnant as Akaashi yawns into the back of his hand, letting it slump on his lap as he thinks into the floor, his mind in limbo</p><p>Bokuto, on the other hand, thinks he liked Sleepy Akaashi more than anything else in the world. He did not know his cheeks were this puffy and pink when he woke up. He would have to look out for that from now on.</p><p>Akaashi thinks, <em> really </em>thinks, about letting Bokuto sleep in his bed. </p><p>It wasn’t permanent. He was fortunate enough that Bokuto didn’t snore, but he didn’t know much else about his sleeping habits. Plus, he still kind of owed him for the roof. Making him sleep on the floor would be good for his ego, but he already knew his guilty conscience would kick it out the window as quickly as it snuck in.</p><p>Akaashi sighs eventually, heavy, his head pounding with the desire to just go back to sleep.</p><p>“Fine.” He scoots over slowly, sacrificing the rest of the space in his bed for Bokuto to fit. “...Fine.”</p><p>“My hero!” Bokuto says, practically swooning, and Akaashi shifts his body away from him, turning off his flashlight and grabbing his earplugs again, letting his phone sit in the crevice between the bed frame and the wall. “Thank you! I really didn’t wanna—”</p><p>“Please stop talking, Bokuto.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Okay, sorry.” </p><p>Akaashi feels the dips in the mattress as Bokuto gets in, nerves suppressed as the desire to sleep steps on them, making him a little delirious and immune to the horrors that this situation would have caused him otherwise.</p><p>Bokuto’s shoulder is pressed against the middle of Akaashi’s back as he tries to fit himself in his bed. It was a full, enough room for Akaashi himself, but very stuffy with someone else in it.</p><p>Akaashi shuts his searing eyes to try and sleep, while Bokuto is staring at the ceiling and imagines himself walking on it, the blankets pooled around his legs and barely covering his chest.</p><p>“Akaashi!” Bokuto whisper-yells and Akaashi clenches his jaw.</p><p>He almost doesn’t reply to him, trying his best to cling onto the coattails of sleep. They slip away from him as guilt buries itself in his chest.</p><p>“What, Bokuto?”</p><p>“I am cold.”</p><p>“Get...a sweater.”</p><p>“...Can we cuddle?”</p><p>The question held almost too much weight on Akaashi and it made his heart clobber against his ribcage. </p><p>This was too much.</p><p>“Are you out of your <em> mind?” </em></p><p>“Please? I can’t live without your warm embrace, Akaashi!<em> ” </em></p><p>“Then perish.”</p><p>Bokuto sighs as his method to convince Akaashi failed faster than he’d hoped, just thankful for the mattress rather than the hardwood floor, as he thinks of what to tell the manager in the morning. He feels himself up and alone as Akaashi’s breathing begins to even out next to him.</p><p>He hated the feeling of being so close to someone, yet was completely isolated as if he’d been by himself. </p><p>“Hey, hey. Akaashi!”</p><p>Akaashi sighs as Bokuto’s voice grates against his skin, the beginnings of a headache tapping at his temple.</p><p>“What the <em> hell</em>, Bokuto?” Akaashi shifts and presses his face against his pillow, hoping Bokuto would take the hint and stop talking</p><p>“Remember the art project I told you about? Due in two weeks?”</p><p>“...What about it?”</p><p>“Well! Yukippe said she didn’t wanna model for me, and I was thinking—”</p><p>Akaashi shushes him as his voice broadens to its normal, boisterous volume, clear through the nighttime and practically shattering the sky above them into pieces.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, sorry~!” He continues in a harsh, drawn-out whisper, and Akaashi honestly thinks he should have let him yell. “I asked Yukippe, and she said <em> no~ </em> . But I need a <em> model~!” </em></p><p>“...That’s unfortunate.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Akaashi thinks he’s dropped it after he doesn’t say anything, screwing his eyes shut to force himself to sleep again. Bokuto shifts in his bed, and the mattress dips once more, before he speaks again, his voice more distant.</p><p>He was on his side away from him, seems like.</p><p>“...Would you be my model?”</p><p>“...Hell no.”</p><p>
  <em> “Please, Akaashi~?” </em>
</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Pretty please? With <em> sugar~! </em> Just this one time?”</p><p>“If I <em> fucking </em> say yes, will you let me sleep?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p><em> “Then fine!” </em> Akaashi keeps his voice down to a low whisper-yell, and after that, hears nothing.</p><p>Akaashi knew he’d probably regret it when he woke up, but he was riding on the waves of sleep and was so close to slipping past the surface once again, he couldn’t really wrap his head around what he got into. </p><p>That was a problem for 6-hours-from-now-Akaashi and he didn’t want to have any part of it, now.</p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Turns out, sleeping with Bokuto was exactly how he imagined it.</p><p>He did not snore, thankfully...but neither did he know what personal space was. Aside from the constant shuffling and kicking through the rest of the morning, when Akaashi woke up with Bokuto’s 6am alarm, the back of a hand was splayed over his cheek and his legs were partially tangled between his own.</p><p>He wonders why he was able to hear it, and when Bokuto stirs and stretches beside him, like usual, he was barely able to see the orange sponge plugs sitting in the palm of his hand, there for him, yet never put to use.</p><p>He’d forgotten to put them in, in his haste to fall back asleep.</p><p>Akaashi wanted to push Bokuto off of his bed as quickly as possible, vaguely recalling why he was here in the first place. Their conversation sounded like they were speaking through jello cups when he thought about it, muffled and drawn out, and Akaashi’s memories could not make out most of their words for him to remember.</p><p>“Good morning, Pretty Boy!”</p><p>Akaashi groans and presses his face into his pillow, his eyes tired and he is completely irritated once again. He was lucky he only had his math class today. Maybe Bokuto would be out of the dorms by the time he got back, so he could sleep some more.</p><p>He decided from now that he would not let this ruin his morning, and accepted his plan for after class.</p><p>“Bokuto, get out of my bed, please,” Akaashi says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hands feeling heavy as stones settled in his fingertips. “And stop calling me that.”</p><p>“Boo. You’re no fun, roomie.” Bokuto rolls out of Akaashi’s bed anyway, and Akaashi feels like a weight was lifted off of him as he lets a breath out and rolls onto his back, the extra space in his bed feeling lovely. </p><p>“Considering you woke me up five times in the past three hours with your constant kicking. And moving. I wouldn’t be any fun.” Akaashi stretches his arms above his head, slightly miffed at the fact that he was exhausted for what felt like the millionth day in a row because of Bokuto.</p><p>Bokuto shrugs, a tiny pout on his lips as he looks to the ground, almost shameful. “I get restless sometimes.”</p><p>“And now you’re up at six to do your yoga.”</p><p>“Join me!”</p><p>“No.” Akaashi shakes his head, his bones feeling like lead and leather as he slowly wills himself out of bed, his joints sticky. “I can’t go back to sleep, so I’m going to get breakfast.”</p><p>He could barely see, but Bokuto stops his movements in whatever position he was in, and his eyebrows raise as he gasps. “I’ll go with you!”</p><p><em> “No.” </em>Akaashi sets his glasses on his nose, his eyelids heavy and his mind set on a warm bath to start the day, his brain kind of scrambled, as if replaced by pencil scribbles. “I’m going...by myself.”</p><p>“Fine. But I’ll miss you.”</p><p>And Akaashi knew that Bokuto <em> wouldn’t </em>miss him, and in fact, was just saying this to get under his skin, but Akaashi was practically running on empty and he didn’t have the energy or the competence for trying to come up with something to say to him.</p><p>He grabs his bathroom bag and slips on his shoes slowly, leaving the dorm and forgetting to close the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. working harder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Delicate.</p><p>If Akaashi could describe Bokuto’s paintings in their entirety, it would be delicate. Delicate in the way he pressed paint onto the canvas’ surface, delicate in the way he held them, delicate in the way he looked at them when he was finished. Despite the many heavy stories that Bokuto liked to illustrate within them, at the end of the day, they were wonderfully, daintily delicate. </p><p>The colors would flutter off of the canvas, and in one smooth stroke, fragile pigeon petal wings would soar, creating a universe that was so much more beautiful than the one around him. It made clouds shine and seas glimmer, made the universe intertwine with the soul of his own worlds so effortlessly, it almost felt like the paintings should have been the true reality to live in.</p><p>It took Akaashi several days to admit it, but he truly had been jealous of Bokuto’s art since he first saw what he was capable of. </p><p>Bokuto was especially talented in the sense of staying true to himself, whilst also being able to change. He created paintings with thick smudges, thin strokes, water use, giving way to aspects of him that Akaashi wouldn’t really think twice about. </p><p>Yet, they all screamed Bokuto through and through, the phantoms of his laugh on the corners of the canvas, his smiles all the same within the pigment, his artistry in every brushstroke.</p><p>Not only that, but the two were having a silent standoff regarding who could fill the dorm with their craft, so each day gave him something new to look at. Bokuto had specifically bought nails to hammer into the walls just to hang up smaller paintings, and Akaashi decided that he would not let him get the jump on him as he made his way to buy some more.</p><p>He’d hung his own photos in dark wooden frames near the door and over Bokuto’s desk, cluttered alongside acrylic paintings on Akaashi’s side of the room and beside their closets. Akaashi had the urge to rip out the nails and frisbee-toss Bokuto’s paintings out the window, but he knew there’d be grey holes scattered amongst the white paint and it would look uglier than the rivalry they had going on within the dorms.</p><p>Bokuto’s paintings were beautiful, anyway. So he didn’t mind.</p><p>Regardless, Akaashi wasn’t one to outwardly show his jealousy. He would definitely kick Bokuto’s ass in his own way.</p><p>He planned to take the train to the Kakei-en garden today, to practice by himself. He wanted to write his own fables, a tale more grandeur than anything he’s ever done, and despite Bokuto not knowing it, he was definitely one whom Akaashi looked up to in terms of their craft.</p><p>He shuddered at the thought, though. That was the first and last time he’d ever let himself think about it.</p><p>
  <em> “Aghaashi!” </em>
</p><p>Akaashi opened his eyes upon hearing Bokuto’s voice from where he sat at his desk, loud and grating and extremely annoying, taking him out of his tranquil state. There was a fruity smell in the air, like flowers and candy.</p><p>This was new.</p><p>Akaashi really wants to focus on his plan for today, fighting between answering him and completely ignoring him until he gets the hint.</p><p>He forgets Bokuto needed to share a bed with him, just until the end of the week, so his brain ends up letting words leave his mouth before his heart tells him to keep quiet.</p><p>“What, Bokuto?”</p><p>“I made this for you. The most beautiful painting you’ve ever seen.” </p><p>Akaashi turns over his shoulder, remembering when they went to get ramen together and he gave him this specific challenge. Despite declaring that he’d be victorious, he didn’t really think Bokuto would actually go through with it. There’s a pink candle burning at the edge of Bokuto’s desk, and although Akaashi was okay with it, he finds it a little irresponsible that Bokuto didn’t even ask him if strong smells bothered his nose.</p><p>That proved more times over that Bokuto truly hadn’t changed, much like he tried to urge to Kuroo.</p><p>He swivels himself over to Bokuto from where he was on their bed, and he receives from him a canvas, heavy with paint. Akaashi stares at him, but he’s not sure if it’s because he was waiting for him to explain the piece, or he was too reluctant to look at something he knows would impress him ten times over, despite seeing different renditions every day. </p><p>“I decided to paint our ramen date”</p><p>Akaashi lets a breath escape him as he glances at the 8x10 canvas, letting his eyes take in the ochre bleed across it from the inside of the shop. It was definitely set in the exact setting, a dreamy atmosphere surrounding the entirety of the piece. It was as if Akaashi was prodding into his own memories (and that whole ramen date really did feel like a fever dream whenever Akaashi thought about it).</p><p>It was nice.</p><p>He remembers the area so vividly; he could practically feel the steam breathing over his glasses, making them fog up again with a snicker.</p><p>“It was not a <em> date.” </em>Akaashi counters, eyebrows coming together when he sees two murky figures sitting at a bench and dressed in their exact same clothes, steaming bowls in front of them.</p><p>It most definitely was a date, but Akaashi thinks that if he didn’t think about that part so much, it would cease to exist.</p><p>And in this painting, it was so easy to live through it. </p><p>Akaashi feels jealous again, of the fact that it was so easy to <em> feel.  </em></p><p>“It definitely was,” Bokuto says with a nod. “Look at it.”</p><p>Akaashi hums, and despite really liking this one, he makes a face, before looking up at Bokuto. At least, he could milk him for all he was worth, and he could add his paintings to his side of the room to liven it up a bit. </p><p>“Is this your best?”</p><p>Bokuto nods his head cutely, like a bobble toy. Akaashi resists the urge to smile. “Yes!”</p><p>“You’re lying,” Akaashi tells him, not looking into his eyes in hopes that he wouldn’t hear how transparent his words were.</p><p>“Is it ugly?”</p><p>It was not ugly. But Akaashi wouldn’t let him get that praise.</p><p>“Yes. I know you could do better.” Every snarky comment Akaashi feels he could make is suppressed, his conscience stepping on their tails with heavy boots. They tried to slither away from it, to slip past his mouth and hurt Bokuto’s feelings in a mean way, rather than a constructive one, but he doesn’t let them leave. </p><p>“Akaashi!” He whines, and Akaashi is reminded of why he didn’t.</p><p>“Paint me another one.” He pushes himself back over to his desk, propping the canvas up on his desk for him to look at when he’s doing homework, or changing his clothes, or to think about when the sunsets weren’t enough.</p><p>He stands up, preparing to take himself to the station, hoping that he didn’t get lost along the way. He had his phone, so he knew he wasn’t completely helpless, but still. The thought of being lost in a next-to foreign town was stressful.</p><p>“Fine! I’m gonna paint another.” Bokuto shakes his fist in the air to emphasize his point, looking into the ground as he thinks of his next idea. “And it’ll be so good the Louvre will go out of business!” </p><p>“That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Akaashi tells him, and Bokuto smiles before reaching to his desk, grabbing another canvas from the stack of many. </p><p>“Speaking of nerds. You’d better not forget about being my model, Akaashi.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs heavily into the air, nearly forgetting that night. It was like a repressed memory that he tried his hardest to bury under concrete. </p><p>“Do I really have to?”</p><p>Bokuto nods firmly. “Yes. I think it’s a fair trade for you beating me up the other day.”</p><p>“I did not almost beat you up,” Akaashi grumbles, staring at the floor because he really did almost beat Bokuto up that night. “And that was nearly a month ago.”</p><p>“Fine. Almost committed manslaughter. Nearly a month ago.”</p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes and reaches for his desk drawer to grab his camera. “If I’m your model this one time, you’ll forget about the rooftop?”</p><p>Bokuto makes a face and looks up to the ceiling in thought, tapping his chin with his forefinger.</p><p>“I might have to ask for a <em> little </em> more than that.”</p><p>Akaashi blinks at him, trying to think of things that would make Bokuto happy. Should he really just buy him a shirt, like Kuroo suggested? Buy him cherry lollipops like he thought he should?</p><p>He sighs, already knowing that he would hate whatever came out of Bokuto’s mouth.</p><p>“What are you asking for?”</p><p>“There is a yakiniku place near the ramen shop…”</p><p>“Fine.” Akaashi throws a hand up, dismissive. “If I’m your model and buy you dinner, <em> then </em>you’ll forget about the roof?”</p><p>“Sure.” Bokuto nods and squeezes green acrylic paint onto his plastic plate, the tip of a paintbrush in between his lips. </p><p>“When do I have to do it?” Akaashi asks the floor as he steps on a stray black thread from the sock on his other foot, his nerves twisting themselves around each other at the thought of being painted by Bokuto, out of all people.</p><p>“I wanna try painting you next Friday. It’s supposed to be dry that day. It’s just a portrait in a different medium.” Bokuto says. “I’m gonna do it with watercolor.”</p><p>“Have you ever painted with watercolor before?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ve been practicing recently, but...” Bokuto scrunches his nose with a shake of his head. “I hate it.”</p><p>Akaashi nods and looks to the floor, knowing exactly why he did, the slow drying times and high susceptibility to ruin the entire thing with the wrong angle turning him away from it, too. “I get it.”</p><p>“I don’t have the patience for it.”</p><p>Akaashi smiles and nods again. “Me neither.”</p><p>With a final sigh through his nose, he slides his feet into his slippers and grabs his shoebox, his white converse haphazardly thrown in there from the last time he went out. </p><p>“You should smile more often.” </p><p>Akaashi stops, feeling the butterflies in his stomach stretch and dry their wings at the sudden comment for him.</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>Bokuto peels his eyes away from the canvas to meet with Akaashi’s for a moment, and Akaashi feels himself steer off his roads again as he peers into them, trying to catch his thoughts before they leave his mouth.</p><p>“It’s pretty.” He goes back to the canvas, swiping green onto the surface with his paintbrush. “You should do it more often.”</p><p>Akaashi looks to the ground, before quickly leaving the dorm and Bokuto behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. watercolor fountain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>whew hello!!</p><p>sorry for the late updates!! i have written a lot, though, so i hope you enjoy these next few. i seem to post like five chapters in one sitting recently, so i hope that's okay! if not, i also don't mind posting every time i write a new chapter. i just feel like posting a bunch kind of like,,, makes up for the lost time?? if that makes sense???</p><p>it probably doesn't hhh just please let me know if you would prefer that (^-^) i’m gonna post up to chapter 17 between today and tomorrow c:</p><p>also!! i hope this doesn't come off as like cocky or conceited or anything but i just have to say – thank you for all of the kind things you have said about this au! it means a lot that you like this so far, despite the slow pacing, and that you take the time to read and talk to me in the comments. and thank you for the kudos!!! ahhhh i appreciate it so much pls o(╥﹏╥)o like i know it's just a fic and it's not the best thing but you make me really love this au the more i come back to it. i cannot communicate to you enough how happy that makes my heart, so thank you, thank you!!</p><p>i hope you're doing okay. my twt is @kaashihq if you'd like to be besties &lt;3333</p><p>enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is next Tuesday.</p><p>Akaashi’s sitting here, stomach filled with knots and nerves frayed like broken piano chords, trying to sit as still as humanly possible.</p><p>His ass was beginning to hurt from sitting for so long.</p><p>Bokuto had decided to paint him <em>today, </em> out of all the days, when he looked extra tired and wanted to sleep in, because it was <em>more emotionally moving to capture someone in their most vulnerable state like this. </em></p><p>Whatever that means. </p><p>Despite him waking up to his own alarms recently, Akaashi was still exhausted from having spent the entire night at the karaoke bar last night with Kuroo, Kenma, and Konoha for the latter’s birthday. He decided it would be worth the tiredness and dry throat, anyway, meeting a few of Konoha’s friends that were not too far off from his own personality and actually having a great time with them.</p><p>Bokuto found a pretty spot in what looked like the corner of the campus, sitting on the ledge of the huge wishing fountain, granite bowls flooding with clear water gently spilling over the cusps behind him, hope stuck to the tiles at the bottom.</p><p>He immediately was at peace, so it wasn’t hard to do exactly nothing for the first few minutes that they were there. </p><p>Naturally, he ended up getting restless and wanted to spend the time doing something, <em> anything, </em>that wasn’t just sitting here. Maybe being a model was harder than Akaashi thought.</p><p>He knew Bokuto would be upset with him had he moved, so he didn’t.</p><p>He studied him instead.</p><p>Bokuto’s hair was back again, and it seemed to have grown a little bit longer since they were in high school. He thinks the two-tone suited someone like Bokuto, a black bleed into a silvery-white that seemed to hold the moon, accompanying his soul of sunbeams. </p><p>He imagines him with just black hair, or just white hair, maybe a soft pink or a bright, highlighter green.</p><p>Akaashi resists the urge to smile at that last one.</p><p>Bokuto was handsome like this, focusing himself into his art, his golden eyes gleaming with a constant soft autumnal glow that only ever kindled when he had a canvas in front of him. </p><p>Akaashi always tried to catch it whenever he glanced up at him. The world quite literally revolved around him, little yellow butterflies flitting behind him in the bush he sat in front of, the clouds ceasing their crawl across the sky to stare at him in his radiance. His eyes housed dusk upon stroking colors into the version of Akaashi on his canvas, fingers steady and light. </p><p>He would love to have taken a picture of it, just to keep, just to be reminded of tranquility whenever he saw it.</p><p>Bokuto leans back a bit, tilting his head at the canvas.</p><p>“Just about done ‘Kaashi. Gonna add some signature Bokuto Koutarou touches to it and we could go.” </p><p>Akaashi doesn’t say anything, and instead, lets his eyes wander to this part of the campus instead. </p><p>It was beautiful; the grass stuttered beneath the wind as a gentle breeze skipped over it and swung on branches, the trees quaking with opportunity, happy. The brick under his shoes was old, cracked, yet still attractive, adding to the aged refinement of the campus in a way that music boxes have, or chipped chimneys. Vines clung onto the sides of buildings, emerald fingers covering windows and grabbing onto rafters. It even smelled different over here; petrichor that seemed to soak into clothes, mingling with the mellow aroma of coffee wafting from the residential cafe.</p><p>It was nice. Akaashi could see himself spending more time here by himself.</p><p>“Painting you is really fun,” Bokuto speaks up again, and Akaashi watches as he soaks the watercolor brush in a dark shade of blue and holds it to the canvas, letting the saturated paint fall from the bristles.</p><p>“What?” Akaashi doesn’t move his head to look at him, much like he normally would, and instead listens to the ocarina call of the green pigeons from within the trees, the wind picking up and rustling their leaves, making a sound like falling rain.</p><p>“Let me dumb it down for you, <em> salutatorian.” </em> Akaashi’s face falls and the corner of Bokuto’s mouth tips up in mischief, his eyes on the canvas. “You’re very beautiful. Super easy to paint, down to your nose, and the lines of your face.”</p><p>And it was true. </p><p>Bokuto always thought Akaashi was stunning, like how a glass vase of dark, red roses would look, or pink auroras against a midnight sky. Stark and prominent, delicate touches of color that only complemented, rather than took away from.</p><p>The thing with Bokuto was, he didn’t mind letting Akaashi know exactly what he was thinking about, and he really liked how this painting was turning out. </p><p>It only made sense to tell him why.</p><p>Akaashi flushes immediately, ducking his head a bit and pressing the back of his hand to his face as his stomach flips, his butterflies scrambling in emergency. He doesn’t know what to say, his brain soaring above the clouds, his heart right up there with it. </p><p>While Akaashi knew he wasn’t ugly, he didn’t think he was in the parameter of being <em> beautiful. </em></p><p>It made him feel very good to hear it from Bokuto. Brazen almost. </p><p>Bokuto is sitting there like it was nothing, as if Confidence was his clothing and Courage was his makeup, and he knew Akaashi didn’t have any of that to use for himself. Like he still had a one-up on him, despite putting him on a pedestal this time. </p><p>And for him to say he was beautiful, when there are a million other things that deserved to be called <em> beautiful… </em></p><p>It makes his head spin.</p><p>That word deserved to be corked in glass bottles and tied with a pink satin ribbon, set on the top shelf to only be opened when need be. Not thrown around like <em>that</em>.</p><p>Akaashi would never get it.</p><p>Bokuto hides his own smile behind the canvas he was painting on, finding how easily it was to embarrass Akaashi endearing, finishing the painting with a strong flick of the brush over the corner. Akaashi sees the excess violet paint splattered on the brick near his feet. </p><p>“D-don’t say that.” Akaashi thinks of ice and brings his hand up to his face, trying his best to stop humiliating himself in front of Bokuto.</p><p>He is so <em>annoying.  </em></p><p>“You’d rather me lie? I really love how this turned out.” Bokuto sets his brush in the jar beside him and holds the painting at an angle, and Akaashi assumes he’s letting the wet paint drip for an effect. “Thank you, Pretty Boy.” </p><p>Akaashi nods and keeps his eyes trained on his feet, his lips in a small pout at the slight defeat of letting Bokuto make him get flustered like that. “Yeah, whatever.” </p><p>“Hey, let me help you, too.” </p><p>“With what?” </p><p>Bokuto pulls the band off from around his head, ruffling his fingers through his hair. It’s messy when it wasn’t styled, white flurries falling into his face in that typical boy-next-door way. He stands up, and Akaashi is reminded of December as he shoves the band in his sweatpants pocket. </p><p>The gold trim glints in the sun before it disappears past the grey material.</p><p>“Well, if Kuroo can’t be your model for a project…” Bokuto sets the canvas back down on the easel, going through his bag and pulling out a piece of paper towel to wipe off his paint tin. “Let me do it for you. Since we’re <em> friends </em> and all.” </p><p>Friends?</p><p>That word has never crossed Akaashi’s mind once when thinking of Bokuto. As he thinks, reminiscing on how he spent his time lately, there were only very few memories that didn’t include him. They’ve been living together for almost three months now, and Akaashi both woke up and fell asleep with Bokuto, amongst trying to ignore his blatant flirting and dodge conversations in general (but often finding himself tangled in sticky webs anyway).</p><p>He did not know when the line was crossed into friendship, but when he was truly thinking about it, they did everything friends did and nothing enemies didn’t.</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head, his eyebrows knitted together, deciding to ignore that last bit, thinking that if he didn’t explicitly call it friendship, it wouldn’t be. </p><p>“I just agreed to be your model because I felt bad about the roof. We are not friends.”</p><p>“We’re even. What’s your point?” </p><p>Akaashi sighs, watching Bokuto flick the water off of his brushes into the bush behind him, the yellow butterflies scattering.</p><p>“Fine.” Akaashi knows Bokuto would keep asking regardless, so he just tells him a half-truth to make him stop, just to think about it a little more. “Only if Kuroo says no. Only if.”</p><p>Bokuto holds up a pinky towards him, his eyes heavy with anticipation. “Promise?”</p><p>Akaashi sighs and nods, looking to his feet in hopes that it would never come to that. “Promise.”</p><p>“You didn’t hold up your pinky.”</p><p>
  <em> “Bokuto.” </em>
</p><p>Bokuto raises his eyebrows and gestures towards his pinky, still in the air. Akaashi does not know how much of this he could take.</p><p>He reluctantly holds his pinky up, too, looking at the tops of the trees to his left rather than Bokuto’s eyes, his pride making him too afraid of the honesty that buried itself within them.</p><p>“...Pinky promise.”</p><p>He sees Bokuto nod with a smile in his peripherals, but Akaashi knows he was probably beaming. Probably melting the sun with that stupid grin of halos and cloud iridescence he loved to show so much.</p><p><em>“Yes!</em> I’ll get you that A, Akaashi. Don’t worry!”</p><p>Akaashi knew that only he could get himself that A, but he didn’t knock Bokuto down, and instead let both of them hang on to the idea that he would be the reason for Akaashi’s grade. Maybe he would be. Maybe Bokuto would give him that extra motivation to break his expectations of what he thought Akaashi was capable of. Maybe instilling that hope into Bokuto would make Akaashi do better this time around.</p><p>Yeah, that’s it.</p><p>“You wanna see it?”</p><p>Akaashi blinks, and Bokuto is suddenly in front of him from where he sat on the fountain. His black bag was packed and ready, the easel he’d borrowed from the art closet tucked under one arm against his torso, the canvas in the other. There’s a white lollipop stick in his mouth, his cheek puffed with the candy.</p><p>Akaashi gently takes it from him, letting his eyes run over the portrait.</p><p>This was definitely him, painted in violets and navies and fluffy pinks that reminded him of cherry blossoms in the spring. The Akaashi that was staring back at him looked almost like a dream in itself, in the way Bokuto seemed to splatter space and fantasies onto canvases like it was nothing. </p><p>It was abstract and perfect and whole and Akaashi truly felt like maybe, he deserved the word beautiful after all.</p><p>But he didn’t know if saying it was beautiful would sound too cocky — after all, it was his face he was looking at. He then wonders if this is how Bokuto sees him, and ducks his head to hide his blush, acting like he couldn’t see it in the glare of the sunlight.</p><p>“You like it?”</p><p>Akaashi nods, handing the portrait back to him. “I just...I hope it warrants you a good grade.”</p><p>“‘Course it will.” Bokuto smiles down at him with a nod. “With my <em>amazing </em>artistic ability and your pretty face, this is A-worthy. Maybe I’ll get a few gold stars while I’m at it.” He winks at him and Akaashi’s face is warm again.</p><p>“Y-you’re pushing it.” He tells his shoes, tapping his heel on the bricks beneath him to try and calm himself down. “Let’s hurry and put the easel back.”</p><p>It felt like every little thing Bokuto did made him nervous, even now, when they’ve been living together for a couple of months. He blames it on the shift of the tide from last night, maybe an imbalance in his chakras, making him more susceptible to stuff like that.</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, that’s it. </em>
</p><p>He makes it a point to mediate the next time Bokuto is out of the dorm.</p><p>He leads Akaashi to the art supply closet, pointing out a group of scarlet butterflies along the way, speckling the green shrubs around them like rubies. The night was warming up to them quickly, and Akaashi kind of wanted to stay out here for a little while, just to be with the moon.</p><p>“Can we go get yakiniku after this?” Bokuto asks, following Akaashi back to their dorm.</p><p>It almost felt like he’d been walking on his heels, Bokuto very close behind him and bleeding cherries into his clothes, while Akaashi tried to subtly walk a bit quicker to keep the distance. Bokuto took long strides naturally, so of course, that didn’t work.</p><p>“We can, I guess. Do you know a place?” Akaashi asks, taking off his outside shoes once they reach the first floor, <em> really </em>not looking forward to it.</p><p>“I do! It’s near the ramen shop!” Bokuto practically shouts, a little open-mouthed smile on his face.</p><p>Akaashi sighs heavily through his nose, hoping that Bokuto would not ruin this experience with stupid comments or half-insults. He knew he was asking for the impossible, but maybe there would be a slim chance that he would be okay tonight.</p><p>Chances really were <em>slim, </em>though.</p><p>“I’ll go wash this paint off,” Bokuto looks at his hands once they get into their dorm, slipping his black bag off of him and setting it on Akaashi’s bed, running his hand through his hair again, letting it fall back into his forehead.</p><p>“Okay.” Akaashi sits on his desk chair and swivels himself so that he was facing the desk, hearing him grab his things for the bathroom behind him. “I’ll wait for you here.”</p><p>Akaashi looks over the painting of their ramen date on his desk and is reminded of the challenge he still set for Bokuto, wondering if he would truly paint him another picture like he said he would.</p><p>He also wondered if maybe he was being too harsh on him, too. That idea sort of made him feel a little guilty again.</p><p>“I’ll be quick,” Bokuto says. “Then I could milk you for all you’re worth at dinner tonight!”</p><p>“You’d better n—”</p><p>The door shuts and Akaashi is alone.</p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akaashi did not know that the yakiniku restaurant also sold alcohol. He also did not know Bokuto’s birthday was last week, ten days before Konoha’s, and he was of age to <em>drink</em> said alcohol.</p><p>He <em>did </em>know that Bokuto was an idiot, even more so when he had a drunken threat lacing with his veins and threading through his conscience. His ego was boosted, confidence inflated past limits Akaashi didn’t know existed, and he was even <em>worse </em>now that he had drinks in his system.</p><p>Especially now, when he is trailing behind Akaashi on the walk back to their dorms, trying his best to avoid groups of people so that Bokuto couldn’t call attention to them and embarrass the two of them even more.</p><p><em> “Aghaashi! </em>Let’s go on an adventure!” Bokuto calls, his voice distant, and Akaashi turns to see that he was far from him, looking at the street beside them.</p><p>A few cars coasted past and Bokuto followed one with his eyes, unnecessarily interested. Akaashi could practically see golden fireworks go off behind them.</p><p>“No. I don’t wanna hang out with you more than I need to.” Akaashi says, pressing his glasses up to his face, waiting for Bokuto to catch up to him. </p><p>“It’s not like you have anything funner to do, Grumpy Pants.” Bokuto stops in his tracks and makes a face, leaning forward with his hands on his hips. “You’re grumpy. Like a little grandpa.”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyebrows come together, somehow feeling irrationally offended at that last one. He could tolerate everything else Bokuto has said to him. He could ignore the Grumpy Pants and the Pretty Boy, but <em> grandpa?  </em></p><p>He should smack him.</p><p>“Just get over here so we could go home.” Akaashi resists the urge as Bokuto continues towards him, his steps off and messy, walking in more of a snake shape rather than a straight line.</p><p>Bokuto is silent for a moment, before he bursts out in an ear-splitting tune, like someone flipped another switch in him that Akaashi was not prepared for. It's a familiar song from a play Akaashi watched once in high school for his literature class. He couldn’t remember the name, but he did remember liking it a lot. </p><p>Akaashi was less ashamed to be seen with Bokuto because they had made it to a quieter part of the neighborhood, on the street in front of their dorm. He didn’t shush him this time.</p><p>“We should dance, Akaashi!” Bokuto takes Akaashi’s hand in his own, who looks at it as if it pained him, trying to ignore the butterflies in his tummy begging to waltz with Bokuto under the flickering street lamps of their city, while the streets are empty.</p><p>It felt like he stuck a fork in an outlet, Bokuto’s fingers sending currents and magic into his skin.</p><p>“No way. And you’re a terrible singer.” Akaashi tells him, and Bokuto laughs, hearty and bold.</p><p>He was struggling on whether or not to pull his hand away, considering Bokuto was now holding onto one finger while his thoughts drifted somewhere else. He was the one pulling Akaashi to their dorms this time, the other's legs feeling like lead. </p><p>He was too afraid of regretting it if he had, but he was also terrified of Bokuto catching on, and asking why he didn’t pull away from him.</p><p>“I am not!” He says, and Akaashi is thankful for his terrible attention span to allow him a few more moments to ponder over this. “Don’t be jealous of my voice, Akaashi. I should refer to you as Ursula.”</p><p>“Don’t refer to me at all.”</p><p>Bokuto heaves out a sigh into the air, almost tripping over his toes. He’s silent again as another thought racks his brain, and Akaashi braces himself for another bout of loud laughs and ramblings that sparked from nothing as Bokuto swings their hands in between them, his forefinger hooked around Akaashi’s as if this was a normal, everyday thing.</p><p>And Bokuto eventually does end up tripping over his toes, and Akaashi was just that unlucky to be right where he could grab him. He pulls him back before he had a chance to completely stumble, almost wishing he’d let him fall.</p><p>Bokuto’s free hand is on his shoulders, followed by a <em> whoa! </em>and Akaashi almost falls to the ground at the sudden weight. He grips onto Akaashi’s hand while his fingers curl in the fabric of his sweater, eyes blown from the scare.</p><p>“Bokuto!” Akaashi’s eyebrows come together as he looks at him from his shoulder, looking over his face as if he actually had fallen and was bleeding or something. “What the hell?”</p><p>“I...tripped!” Bokuto says, loud and disordered. “You caught me! My hero.”</p><p>Akaashi could have sworn time stopped for a moment, just to allow him to look at Bokuto. He was messy, yet, still carried a soothing air to him that was so typical. His cheeks were flooded with a soft fuschia from the alcohol, and Akaashi found himself staring at his lips, which looked even pinker.</p><p>He wanted to kiss him.</p><p>It didn’t help that Bokuto had glanced at his mouth, too, then back up into Akaashi’s eyes, the gold in them shadowed with the moon, the bronze that spilled from the streetlamps above him cloaking him in tourmaline.</p><p>He was pretty.</p><p>Akaashi quickly feels himself break apart, and he quickly picks up what’s left of his head, hazy, like tv static.</p><p>“Gross.” He says, misty again, pushing Bokuto away from him and thinking this was the perfect excuse to not let go of him, yet. “Can’t believe I have to hold your hand like a baby. If you can’t handle alcohol, don’t drink it.”</p><p>“Hey, Akaashi!” He winces as Bokuto’s voice makes his ears ring, the boy still hanging onto his hand, his cheek squished against his shoulder. They veer off to the right a little bit as Bokuto drags his feet over the sidewalk. “I wanna keep your picture.”</p><p>“My picture?” He asks, glancing at Bokuto and taking in his peachy cheeks, his head floating from the alcohol. “There are some in my desk.”</p><p>“No, those are too big! I know you have some tiny ones!” Bokuto says. “It’s only fair I get to keep a picture from you, too! For my wallet.”</p><p>“I might have some.” Akaashi tries not to think of all the reasons Bokuto would want a picture for his wallet, and instead makes himself believe that Bokuto was just talking out of his ass because he was drunk. </p><p>“Yeah! You have a lot, don’t you?”</p><p>Akaashi shrugs. “I have some more polaroids. In my desk drawer.”</p><p>“I wanna keep one!”</p><p>“No.”</p><p><em> “Aghaashi!” </em> Bokuto tugs on the back of his shirt in protest. “Please?”</p><p>“If I say yes, will you stop talking?”</p><p>“...Yes!”</p><p>“Fine.” Akaashi hopes that would be enough to get Bokuto to both stop talking and let go of him, but he does neither, and instead goes on a tangent about photography and how bad he was at it.</p><p>It kind of made sense that Bokuto was bad at it, and despite the satisfaction Akaashi got from Bokuto admitting he was terrible at something, he couldn’t even let it last long. Akaashi was bad at painting and good at photography, while Bokuto was the opposite. </p><p>It only <em>made sense. </em> It was expected.</p><p>“How come you never paint, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks, stumbling over the stairs to their dorm and Akaashi feels the tug of his hand as his fingers were still laced through Bokuto’s. “Never?”</p><p>“Because I’m bad at it,” Akaashi says, opening the door to their dorm for Bokuto to practically fall into, letting go of his hands and feeling the aftershock of his touches on his skin, choosing to ignore it. </p><p>“Really~?” Bokuto asks, clinging onto the doorframe, and Akaashi nods silently, walking past him to get his things for the bathroom, planning on getting clean and going to bed as early as possible before Bokuto had any more chances to fuck it up.</p><p>The resident manager promised Bokuto a new bed by the beginning of October, so he only had a few more days to spend sleeping with him until then. </p><p>“Yes. I’m leaving.” Akaashi says quickly, hoping to escape before Bokuto speaks up again.</p><p>“Aw, okay.” Bokuto lets himself fall back on Akaashi’s bed, the room swaying and the stars dancing through the window. The streetlamps peek in on him and grin. “Hey! Thank you for dinner.”</p><p>“It was just an apology,” Akaashi says, his hand on the doorknob as he looked back at Bokuto, who seemed lost as he kept his eyes trained on the window.</p><p>“Yeah, well. I forgive you, Pretty Boy~!”</p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes and leaves, not acknowledging the relief he felt from it until he was halfway down the hall. </p><p>He now owes nothing to Bokuto Koutarou. It almost makes him smile.</p><p>The sun rises and the black clouds drain their dark greys into a pure white that Akaashi could practically see-through, the puddles on the sidewalk becoming mirrors as they sit on the asphalt, waiting to be dried up and forgotten about.</p><p>On the way to the bathroom, Akaashi can’t help the grin that sneaks onto his face, but he can’t tell if it’s from tonight’s events, or because of his sky finally clearing.</p><p>It was probably the best feeling in the world to make it out of the storm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. polaroids</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kuroo and akaashis texts are loosely based on how my friends and i text but we're not weird i PROMISE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>kuroo</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> :0 AKAASHI!! &lt;3333 </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> love of my life! my favorite man to ever exist! my bestest buddy! my mf cinnamon apple! </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>ew nvm</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> u hurt my heart, honestly </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> what brings u to my office on this fine afternoon  </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>i am in need of a model</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>would you like to help me</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>the assignment is due at the end of the week</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>it’s just freeform, so we could do whatever</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>i think want to incorporate hands this time</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> ooo so u like my hands huh ;) </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>i’m three seconds away from physically vomiting because of you</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>like i can feel it in my stomach</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> and u know what i can feel because of YOU? my heart breaking </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> i would love to be your model kaashi </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> however! </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> kenma and i have exams on friday so we’re gonna study like hell all week with his friend yaku </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> i have physics and they have chem </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> did u know yaku’s a whiz at thermodynamics?  </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>fuck</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>alright thanks anyway</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> hey why dont u ask konoha! </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> you guys are like bffs even though you are supposed to be MY best friend only &gt;:| but imma let it slide just this once </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>konoha has his own project</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>plus, he works three nights a week</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>i don't want to burden him</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> do u have someone else u could ask? </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> if u want i could ask around my classes </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> i'll be like “hey my awesome sexy cool best friend needs a model for his photography assignment! did i mention that he is sexy?” that’s sure to grab peoples attention </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>absolutely do not do that</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>i’ll just have to ask bokuto, unfortunately</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> :0 FOR REAL?? </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> good luck with that lmfao </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> i believe in u </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> sorry i couldnt help u this time :( next time, i promise!! </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>it’s okay</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>don’t worry</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> are u sure </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>yes, now go study</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>you’d better get an A</em> </b>
</p><p><b>kuroo: </b><em>yes</em> <em>i will just for u </em></p><p><b>kuroo: </b> <em> goodbye!! </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akaashi gets home from Kakei-en when the sun begins to go down, his polaroid camera in his hands, jacket pockets filled with the new ones he’d taken today.</p><p>He walks in on Bokuto trying to paint again, this time working with acrylic, a medium Akaashi knew he was more comfortable with. The lights are off and Bokuto is sitting on the floor in the sun where his bed used to be, his skin soaked in a balmy cerise from where it had been flooding through the glass beside him. His eyes were like gemstones as they ran over the canvas on his lap, a white lollipop stick in between his lips, as usual.</p><p>Akaashi begins arguing with himself for a little, his brain screaming and telling himself to just put these polaroid photos in his desk drawer and forget about them, while his heart was practically begging him to give them to Bokuto, just to see him smile and probably giggle at the fact that he spent the day out just to get these.</p><p>His breath is caught in his throat once Bokuto looks up at him, curious, as if he knew Akaashi was thinking about him. Akaashi watches his expression melt, knowing he was probably coming up with something dumb to say, like–</p><p>“With all that photography you do, you should know that pictures last longer.” <em> Yeah, like that. </em>Akaashi’s eyebrows come together as his words tangle themselves in his throat, his cheeks dusted in rose petals. “I’m glad you’re back! I have a gift for you!”</p><p>Akaashi waits as Bokuto pushes himself off of the floor and goes to his desk to pick up a canvas with thin paint on it. It looked familiar, but before he could put a name or time or location on it, Bokuto was handing it to him with a smile, the same one that liked to stop shows and Akaashi’s heart and the entire world. </p><p>There is yellow paint on his chin and Akaashi wants to reach out to wipe it off.</p><p>“I tried again, to paint the most beautiful picture I could for you.”</p><p>The color in Akaashi’s cheeks deepens into a fiery vermillion when he sees that this was the watercolor portrait of himself at the fountain, the one from earlier this week. When he was called <em>beautiful. </em></p><p>Bokuto was trying to kill him</p><p>“It’s me.” Was all Akaashi could say, and Bokuto nodded, his hands on his hips triumphantly.</p><p>“Yes, it’s you! You got me an A, like I said you would. That means it’s a great picture, right?” He turns to go back to the floor where his canvas laid, waiting for him to get back to doing what he was doing with it before Akaashi interrupted him.</p><p>“W-wait.” </p><p>Akaashi’s hands stay stagnant in his jacket pocket for a moment, hesitant, until he finds himself pulling every polaroid he took today out of them, not daring to look at Bokuto as he walks over to him in the middle of the room, his polaroid camera swinging at the movement from where it was around his wrist. “Here. In return.”</p><p>Bokuto’s eyebrows come together as he stares at what Akaashi was holding, before he gasps lightly and takes them, spreading them out in his hands to look at each one.</p><p>“Photos!”</p><p>Akaashi sheepishly presses a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes trained on his shoes while he holds the canvas with the other, not knowing what to do with it.</p><p>“Yeah. Today was a good day for it.” He tells him, his voice as flat as possible to hide the fact that he’d gotten exactly what he’d expected from Bokuto after giving him these pictures, and Bokuto squints at him, leaning forward a bit.</p><p>“Wait a minute.” And Akaashi feels of yellow stoplights when Bokuto tilts his head. “You went out just for me?”</p><p>“No!” Akaashi says this almost too loud, as if trying to convince himself, walking towards his desk to get as far away from Bokuto as reasonably possible. “I wanted to go and...to see if anything new bloomed.”</p><p>“It’s the middle of fall,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi knows he’s probably standing there with his arms crossed, very much aware that Akaashi did in fact go to the garden just for him. “Nothing new blooms in October.”</p><p>“Well, how should I know that?” Akaashi asks, talking just to talk. “I didn’t know that. How could I? I went for myself.”</p><p>“Wow.” Bokuto sets the photos on his own desk to get back to later, after he got the ideas out of his head and onto his canvas. “I meant it when I said you’re a bad liar.” </p><p>And Akaashi is reminded of when he brought him food, and when he said <em>it’s kind of cute </em>after reminding him of just how much of a bad liar he truly was. He felt like a laughing stock under Bokuto’s gaze, yet, he was right.</p><p>He couldn’t do anything about the truth, could he?</p><p>“Shut up.” Akaashi knows he’s being immature, but he needs some kind of leverage over Bokuto and would stop at nothing in his desperation. “...Just keep them and forget about it, would you?”</p><p>“I will!” Bokuto goes back to the floor, calm, and Akaashi thinks it’s unfair how he seemed completely unfazed, while he was struggling to keep the blood flow to his heart at a reasonable pace. “Thank you, Pretty Boy.”</p><p>Akaashi blinks, and makes an impromptu plan to just spend the rest of the afternoon in the shower by himself, away from Bokuto and those polaroids and this watercolor portrait and everything else that brought him stress.</p><p>“Whatever.” Akaashi grabs his bath bag, trying to stop his fingers from trembling around the handle so much. “I’m leaving.”</p><p>“Wh—”</p><p>“Bath.”</p><p>And with that, he nearly runs towards the bathroom, the back of his hand pressed against hot skin while Bokuto’s evil face haunted his thoughts.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. friends?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Like this?”</p><p>Akaashi moves the camera away from his face to look at Bokuto in the natural sunlight. </p><p>Despite being an effortlessly <em> great </em> model for photos, Bokuto was also respectful when it came to this. He didn’t question Akaashi’s ideas or thoughts, and he did everything he asked without hesitation.</p><p>He knew it was only because this was technically <em> business, </em>but he couldn’t help but feel good. He was in his element, and paired with someone who let him be creative without barriers in the form of questions and strange looks, made him feel golden. </p><p>Plus, he was still basking in the afterglow of the other day, being painted so wonderfully by Bokuto in a medium that he struggled with.</p><p>Akaashi would never let it show to him, though.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s good,” Akaashi says, the sun flooding through Bokuto's skin and slashing through his eyes, amber resin beneath silver lashes as they peered up at him, waiting.</p><p>They were in the middle of the street in front of their campus, the faint hints of adrenaline coasting through Akaashi’s blood at the danger of what they were doing, but he thought the thrill was worth it for some nice photos.</p><p>It was a freeform, after all. He could do what he wanted.</p><p>He always thought hands were one of the coolest things people could have. They did many things, like holding pens, or other hands. They carried objects as soft as feathers or as heavy as boulders, an unspoken switch in sensation that told the brain exactly how much force to put into fingers and palms and wrists.</p><p>They were delicate and gnarled, soft or calloused, dirty or spotless. </p><p>The same functions with different appearances, where no pair was the exact same.</p><p>The variation was interesting to Akaashi, and despite wanting to go a more conventional route, like taking photos of flowers, he figured nobody would really care about hands enough to do a whole project on them.</p><p>He just hoped to convey his thoughts through his photos today.</p><p>Akaashi brings up the camera to his face, viewing Bokuto as he lay in the street with his hands stretched above his face, snapping a photograph once he got the angles right. His fingers sat carefully beneath the lens, pressing steadily onto the capture button.</p><p>Akaashi hums as stares at the image on the LCD screen.</p><p>“Did I do okay? Am I a great model or what?” Bokuto asks, his voice wild and persistent as it fluttered around his head, and Akaashi shrugs in dismissal.</p><p>“Decent enough.”</p><p>
  <em> “Aghaashi!” </em>
</p><p>“I’m gonna ask you some questions, okay?” Akaashi thinks this different approach might help, that maybe distracting him will make his movements more authentic, pull a miracle from thin air. Bokuto shields his eyes from the setting sun with one hand as Akaashi moves out of the way, the other strewn across his chest.</p><p>“Alright. I will answer them.”</p><p>“How are you...feeling...today?” Akaashi asks, his mind barely there, and he points the camera at Bokuto to take a photo of him like this before he moves.</p><p>Slightly stunned and curious as to how that photo turned out, Bokuto blinks into the navy lens of Akaashi’s camera, seeing a teeny version of his face that he almost has the urge to stick his tongue out at, before he shrugs, the asphalt beneath him digging rocky nails into his shoulder blades.</p><p>“Um...I am okay. It’s nice outside.” Bokuto says.</p><p>“Look to the right...” Akaashi tells him, and when he does, he nods. “Okay. What do you like about university?”</p><p>Bokuto pouts slightly with a hum as he thinks into the horizon, heatwaves warping the white dashed lines that separated the road in two, the sidewalk empty save for the ghosts of the rush hour that passed before they came out here. They were able to ignore the strange looks they got from people passing by from their campus, and Akaashi hoped that nobody from his classes recognized him.</p><p>“It’s a lot better than high school.” Bokuto brings up a hand to scratch at the back of his ear in thought, and Akaashi tells him to stay still so he could take a picture. Bokuto is caught in this awkward position and tries to think of it as being for the greater good. “...Nobody cares about your achievements here. Which is actually quite comforting, when you think about it. No expectations to fall short of.”</p><p>Akaashi hums again. He and Bokuto shared so much in common, it was almost unsettling. Two polar opposites, meant to stay in disconnected worlds away from each other, yet, Akaashi was completely drawn to him, as if he had the southern end of a pole in his chest.</p><p>He had fallen victim to Bokuto’s orbit more times than he could count, but the track record he had of doing so made him believe there were stronger forces at work, here.</p><p>“There is an expo in February,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto nods, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his stomach, not sure what to do with them without instruction. He pretends he’s flying through the clouds above him. “Are you going to submit something?”</p><p>“Yes. I don’t know what, yet.” </p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“They’re picking only one?”</p><p>“From all of the art departments, I believe yes. One out of all of them.”</p><p>It was here when Bokuto realized that meant he would be competing with Akaashi. He finds the reluctance he felt in his chest strange, normally craving any chance he got to prove he was better than Akaashi at <em>something</em>.</p><p>He didn't want to fight with him for a spot.</p><p>“...That’s kinda unfair.” Bokuto tilts his head slowly so that he was looking at the street, finding his thoughts in the wriggling of the sun against the pavement.</p><p>“It might be.”</p><p>Akaashi does his best to step away from Bokuto without stepping <em> on </em>him from where he was above him, a strange waddle-shuffle, before he thinks. He liked the photos he had so far, but on his thought of hands, he felt like he was lacking. The pictures he had already would serve as substories, maybe.</p><p>But what was his main plot point, here?</p><p>“Can we go back to that fountain?” Akaashi requests, and Bokuto nods with a shrug.</p><p>“If that’s what you want. I’ll go with you.”</p><p>Akaashi covers the lens of his camera and pushes his frames up his nose bridge just as Bokuto lifts himself up from the street. He walks without waiting for Bokuto, wanting to get back to campus before the idea leaves his head. He’s hoping Bokuto wouldn’t distract him with any–</p><p>“Hey, Pretty Boy?”</p><p>Akaashi sighs and glances at Bokuto once he catches up to him, his hands behind his head as he stretches his back out, taking up more of Akaashi’s spaces and corners. They walk on the sidewalk, Akaashi glancing at the photos he took of Bokuto while also trying not to bump into street lamps and wooden poles, thinking of how to make these better.</p><p>He had a plan, but wasn’t sure how the end result would look.</p><p>Akaashi glances at the sky, eyes squinting as deep ochre stains the clouds, thumb swipes of magenta across the horizon. The stratosphere erupted in transparent stars that were itching for the night to fall so they could sing to the city, the moon high and quiet.</p><p>The sunset was nice today. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“What are you thinking about?”</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head in insignificance. “I’m not thinking of anything.”</p><p>Bokuto falls behind Akaashi a bit to pass another streetlamp, the sidewalk not sparing them much space, to begin with. “Hm. Typical.”</p><p>Akaashi shoots him a glare that Bokuto catches and knocks down with a cute smile, before going back to his camera.</p><p>“You are thinking. When you think hard, you make these weird twitches with your eyebrows. They go down really fast, like…”</p><p>And Bokuto scrunches his nose as he brings his eyebrows down quickly, trying to mimic Akaashi’s expression. He looked angry almost, like one of the faces you’d see in horror movies, or in the mask sections of Halloween shops.</p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes and goes back to his camera again, passing over a particular photo that he was fond of, Bokuto lying on the street and looking at him, a summer glazed grin on his face, his hand over it. It reminded him of crepuscular, when docile rays would peek out behind a fluff of clouds after a storm, trying to stay hidden, yet it was impossible in a radiance like that. </p><p>If Akaashi looked hard enough, he could see the sun on Bokuto’s tongue or the rainbows behind his eyes through the LCD screen.</p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>“You do, too.” </p><p>They turn the corner into their campus, a powdery navy brushing over the bricks beneath their feet as the sun is blocked behind the bigger buildings. He follows Akaashi to the spot they went to the other day, the fountain still active, the waterflood seemingly boundless from where it spilled from the top.</p><p>Akaashi has one thing in mind, and he needed to get to it before anything else. He walks over to the bush Bokuto painted in front of the other day, reaching over the ledge to grab one of the smooth stones scattered near the roots of the shrub. He holds it up to the sun, eyes slipping over the texture and color, before turning to Bokuto and holding it out to him.</p><p>“Take this.”</p><p>Bokuto lets Akaashi drop the stone into both of his palms, together and careful as if it would shatter had he dropped it, and if Akaashi was with anyone else, he would have found it cute. </p><p>And he does find it cute, but because it was Bokuto, it was ugly and annoying and gross.</p><p>“A rock?”</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head, grabbing more stones from behind the ledge, trying to find variety in shape and texture. “A <em> vision.” </em></p><p>“You have a vision in these rocks?” Bokuto asks as Akaashi piles more stones into his hand, and he had been hopeful that Bokuto would keep up his no-questions-asked routine, but was disappointed as he found it short-lived. “How, Akaashi?”</p><p>“Well, I wanna do a bit of a contrast,” Akaashi says, fingers curled at the end of Bokuto’s shirt as he gently tugged him towards the fountain. “Hands hold a lot, right? Hands, pillows, cameras, paintbrushes.” </p><p>Bokuto smiles softly and nods. Akaashi tries to ignore the look of awe on his face, by the way his lips parted or his eyebrows quirked.</p><p>“Hold these.” Akaashi drops a bunch more stones into Bokuto’s open palms and brushes his own hands over his jeans to get rid of the dirt. “And then go hold the water.”</p><p>“Hold the water? With the rocks?”</p><p>Akaashi nods, and he really tries not to smile at Bokuto’s expression, his eyebrows raised, his eyes wide. </p><p>“I wanna do a contrast." Akaashi holds his own chin in his fingers, looking at the brick and wondering if he should add anything else. Would flowers be too much? "I think it will work.”</p><p>And as his cogs turn, Bokuto thinks Akaashi was most stunning when he was doing something he loved. As the sun hits his skin, as his eyes darkened in focus, as his fingers gingerly hold the lens when he points it to Bokuto’s hands, now wet in the water of the fountain, as he is wrapped in Akaashi's own universe despite the world around him <span>– </span>he thinks he is perfect like this.</p><p>He wonders how long he would allow him to stay in his galaxy.</p><p>Akaashi takes two photos back-to-back, and Bokuto is quiet, watching as he moves to the other side, pointing the camera onto his hand from another angle.</p><p>Bokuto sees that he says something, but his voice kind of sounds like water as it hits his ears, warm and wavy. He stares at his lips, pink like cherry blossoms, as they shape over his words, his voice dripping off of his tongue like red saccharine from popsicles in the summer. </p><p>Apart from pretty eyes, Akaashi had pretty lips, too. Bokuto knew he should not have been surprised, considering it <em> was </em> Akaashi, but still. He was nice to look at, like he belonged framed and set in museums or created from marble to be placed in the middle of flower gardens.</p><p>“–listening, Bokuto?”</p><p>Bokuto brings himself back down to his environment, his head still filled with stars as he glances at him, his eyebrows coming together. “Yes.”</p><p>“You were not.”</p><p>“...I was not.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs, reaching out to gently adjust the stones in Bokuto’s palm to where he wanted them to be, wiping his wet fingers off in his sweater. </p><p>“It’s amazing how you managed valedictorian with all that air in your head.” Akaashi grumbles and Bokuto pouts. “I said that if you want to take a break, we can.” Akaashi’s voice is level, and he brings the camera up to his eyes, pointing the lens at Bokuto’s hands once more. “I know the fountain water is cold.”</p><p>Bokuto hums, trying to think of what to do. He was okay for now, but he knew he’d be hungry in a little bit and it was almost nighttime, telling by the gold soaking into his skin. </p><p>The perfect time for a dinner date.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi shakes his head without a second thought as he takes a couple more photos of Bokuto’s hands in the water.</p><p>“No.” He says, and Bokuto actually feels his stomach fall in disappointment. “But I could make you something, if you’d like. I don’t know if you ate today.”</p><p>“Really?!” Bokuto’s voice raises as excitement threads through his words, and Akaashi resists the urge to smile, and instead, makes himself feel slightly annoyed at the volume change.</p><p><em>“Yes.</em> I like to cook, sometimes." A camera click goes off. "I don’t mind.” </p><p>And Akaashi only says this because he knows he’d be dragging guilt around had he made Bokuto go to get dinner by himself after he asked with the intent to go together. He decided this would be the one and only time he would go <em> this </em>out of his way for him.</p><p>“Is that something you want?” Akaashi asks again, and Bokuto nods, watching as Akaashi begins to take the stones out of Bokuto’s hands and throw them back into the bushes where he found them. “We’re done, by the way.”</p><p>Bokuto brings his hands up to toss the remaining stones back into the bushes, droplets of cold water speckling his warm skin at the force. He wipes them on his shirt, only regretting the decision when the wind picks up almost instinctively and there was a cold feeling on his tummy, causing him to shiver as goosebumps litter his skin like a field of daisies.</p><p>“Yes, please! And we could eat on the roof together!” Bokuto’s eyes were practically glowing against the sun and there is this warm-fuzzy feeling in Akaashi’s chest as he looks at him. There was something so charming about how happy he got over something so small. “In return, I’ll be your model for the next project!”</p><p>Akaashi immediately shakes his head, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was terrified of spending another day alone with Bokuto like this, or if he thinks he would ruin the next project. “I said only if Kuroo says no.”</p><p><em> “Aghaashi! </em>You can’t do something nice for me and then not let me repay you.” Bokuto says, following Akaashi back to their dorm.</p><p>“You can repay me by going to get the stuff you want me to make for you,” Akaashi says, stepping on the heel of his shoes once they reach the dorm to take them off and replace them with his slippers. “I have a bit of homework to finish before the day’s over.”</p><p>Bokuto nods, his next destination being their room so he could grab his wallet. “Okay. I will do that. Please don’t fall asleep on me.”</p><p>“I won’t. Be careful, please.” Akaashi says, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could have grabbed them and stomped on them before they reached Bokuto.</p><p>It obviously wasn’t anything that important to him, as Bokuto was already halfway out the door. But he would only say that to someone like Kuroo, or Konoha even, had they been together and he’d gone out. </p><p>He would only say that if he cared enough for them.</p><p>The f-word was so vulgar and dehumanizing when it came to Bokuto, Akaashi was almost ashamed to think about it. </p><p>Friends. They were acting like <em>friends</em>.</p><p>And as he watches Bokuto turn the corner, his lips puckered as he makes little popping sounds to himself to fill up the quiet, he knows he was absolutely screwed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akaashi did not know what prompted him to cook for Bokuto in their dorm kitchen.</p><p>He thinks that maybe it was what remained of his guilt, lacing its fingers through his thoughts and conscience, completely wiping away the option to say no. He thinks that maybe it was because he wanted to really hit the nail on the head with this final favor for Bokuto, that way it could never be thrown back in his face that he didn't do anything to make up for it. </p><p>He thinks maybe it was so that he could hear Bokuto compliment him over a dish that he knew he could make well.</p><p>He thinks <em>maybe</em> he wanted to see the bliss that so obviously painted his face with a mouthful of food he made himself, excited, with his cheeks pink from the heat of the plate, like he looked at the ramen shop.</p><p>Akaashi didn’t know.</p><p>But <em> did </em>know that he didn’t mind the compliments from Bokuto, no matter which way he tried to spin them into annoying him somehow.</p><p>Bokuto was very genuine when he wanted to be, and Akaashi liked that a lot.</p><p>“Hey, hey. ‘kaashi.” </p><p>Akaashi keeps his eyes shut from where he’d been sitting on the ledge beside Bokuto, kicking one leg rhythmically and facing the moon, while he imagines the wind taking him to the mouth of the sea. He tries his best to remember the salt of the ocean and the scent of the moon.</p><p>It was nice out.</p><p>The stars let them have their privacy, the night clear.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“How come you chose photography?”</p><p>This makes Akaashi open his eyes as his train of thought begins to chug slowly, and he gently pushes his glasses up his nose bridge while looking at his feet. He continues to kick his leg, watching as the heel of his rubber sole bounces off of the wall, his toes soaked in ivory.</p><p>“I don’t really know.” He shrugs one shoulder, blinking. “It was the only medium that I stuck with.”</p><p>“But it’s really hard to do, isn’t it?” Bokuto turns his head to look at Akaashi, eyes stark with curiosity, and Akaashi wonders if that's where the stars went tonight instead of being in the sky.</p><p>Normally, Akaashi would say no, that it was the only medium that let him express himself within bounds that seemed limitless. He would say no, that it was the easiest for him when he was younger, the only thing that wasn’t too hard, that wasn't <em>stupid. </em></p><p>But he remembers the last grade he got on his motion project with Kuroo, and the thought was squashed as quickly as it sprung up. He’d earned a C, and despite telling himself to accept it, it was still something that caused an itch in the back of his head whenever he thought about it. Since then, he'd been chasing a new approach to it, Bokuto's art making him want to do better this time.</p><p>“It is.” Akaashi nods. “It can be difficult, but…” Bokuto tilts his head as he looks at him, waiting for him to finish. “I’ve found inspiration recently.” He says, images of silver and gold flashing through his head once, before his heart skips in his chest. “Makes me wanna work harder at it.”</p><p>“Really?” Bokuto asks. “That’s great!”</p><p>Akaashi smiles at his shoes. “Yeah. I think so, too.”</p><p>“Can you teach <em> me </em> how to take photos?”</p><p>Akaashi hums dismissively as he smiles at the cityscape. “Why? So you can one-up me?”</p><p>Bokuto breathes out a grin and faces the ground, kicking his feet in thought.</p><p>“Akaashi, you assume the worst from me! What if I just wanna spend time with you?”</p><p>The other rolls his eyes, the wind picking up. “As if. We are not friends.”</p><p>“If we weren’t friends, you wouldn’t have cooked for me.”</p><p>Akaashi huffs and shuts his eyes again, putting up his best impression of the person he used to be in high school into his first year of university, when everything Bokuto did pissed him off. He thinks he’s nailed it down from the past few weeks he’s been finding himself acting more than being genuine.</p><p>“I just did it because I still feel bad about the roof.”</p><p>Bokuto makes a sound like a car that won’t start, and Akaashi could practically see the face he’s making, but he doesn’t dare to open his eyes and see it.</p><p>“But I told you it was okay when we went to get yakiniku.” Bokuto practically whines. “And frankly, it was okay the day it happened. I was being an ass.”</p><p>“Like always.” </p><p>Bokuto gently pushes Akaashi’s shoulder with a <em> hey! </em>and Akaashi feels himself back at the sea when he sways with the movement. He resists the urge to smile, and instead opens his eyes again to look at his feet, the canvas color of his shoes more interesting than facing the truths Bokuto had splayed out for him.</p><p>He seemed to love opening doors Akaashi hadn’t known he was keeping shut.</p><p>“I think we should just be friends already. It works perfectly. You’re like the moon to my sun. Like flowers to my butterflies!”</p><p>“You are an idiot.” Akaashi shakes his head as his heart thrums in his throat. </p><p>“There are many benefits to us being friends.”</p><p>“I cannot think of a single good thing that comes out of being your friend, Bokuto.”</p><p>“You have a free model for your art.”</p><p>“I have Kuroo for that.”</p><p>“Why bother Kuroo when you can just have me?”</p><p>“You’re losing me, here.”</p><p>“You can be <em> my </em>model and have the art I give back to you.”</p><p>“There’s already enough around the dorm.”</p><p>“We can share creative ideas!” Bokuto squeezes his eyes shut and presses both of his pointer fingers to his temples, scrunching his nose up as if a giant thought was inflating his brain and pressing against the sides of his skull, ready to explode.</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head once. “No.”</p><p>Bokuto sighs into the night, defeated and seemingly exhausted. “Akaashi! When will you stop breaking my heart?”</p><p>And Akaashi thinks of telling him <em> as soon as you stop breaking mine, </em>but he doesn’t think it would make sense to Bokuto considering he had no idea about the immeasurable amount of stress he’d put on his feelings since high school, so he keeps it to himself. In fact, he tries to forget he thought of saying that.</p><p>This moment in time would have been everything his younger self wanted. Sitting on the ledge at night, having a conversation with someone who made you feel like the moon rose just for you alone, that made you feel like flowers bloomed at your feet and the clouds parted when you smiled. Someone who made you feel on top of the world in a simple glance, or with a grin that held diamonds.</p><p>It was nothing for Bokuto to make Akaashi feel like everything back then.</p><p>Something about it still annoyed him, though.</p><p>Maybe it was the slight jealousy that Bokuto really did flirt with everyone, that he probably made everyone feel this way, and he hadn’t changed at all since high school. Maybe it was the disorientation when he would go out of his way to be sweet to him, just to piss him off when they were alone in their dorm.</p><p>Akaashi did not know.</p><p>But he did know that he didn’t mind being around Bokuto as much, especially when it was on the roof. It felt like they’d landed on Neptune and no one could bother them.</p><p>Akaashi had always liked solitude, but found transposed comfort when solitude sought out company.</p><p>“When you start being a good roommate,” Akaashi says, trying to keep the ruse up, but he could feel himself begin to flounder, his mind slipping.</p><p>“I am a great roommate.” Bokuto pouts a bit and looks to the side. “It’s not like <em>Kuroo</em> would be any better.”</p><p>And Akaashi tries very desperately to ignore the point of the mention of Kuroo, doesn’t know if Bokuto thinks Kuroo was his only friend or what.</p><p>Bokuto was a good roommate. Akaashi can’t remember the last time he woke up at 6am with Bokuto’s alarm, his earplugs sitting right on the corner of his desk, waiting to be used again.</p><p>A warm blush makes its way to his cheeks when he realizes Bokuto probably stopped setting them for his sake, maybe did that morning yoga after Akaashi left for his first class of the day.</p><p>
  <em>They did everything friends did and nothing enemies didn't.</em>
</p><p>“...Fine, Bokuto,” Akaashi says, shaking his head again, this time, in disbelief for the fact that he was letting his heart do the talking for once instead of the steel corridor that his mind resided in, letting himself spill, just this once. “We can be friends. But I’m never saying that out loud to you again.”</p><p>Bokuto gasps, and Akaashi almost wants to, too, when the words leave his mouth. In some weird way, he almost felt kind of wrong for letting Bokuto in so soon, feeling like all of that time in high school deliberately disliking him was for nothing.</p><p>They got along well on the rare occasion of them feeling like it.</p><p>Maybe Kuroo was right. Maybe he was seeing Bokuto at his peak. </p><p>He wonders what Bokuto can see from where he was at the top.</p><p>“Yeah!” Bokuto’s voice makes its way through the sky as it practically echoed off of buildings and soaked into the color of the trees beneath them. “And we could be each others’ models!”</p><p>“That’s pushing it,” Akaashi says, knowing damn well he would spend the next few weeks hoping Bokuto would ask him, so he could pretend Kuroo was busy, and take photos of him again.</p><p>Bokuto was perfect beneath a lens and Akaashi wanted to take advantage of it.</p><p>“But you make it so much fun to paint,” Bokuto says, looking in the distance. “It’s easy getting good marks because of you.”</p><p>Bokuto turned his head to look at him, and Akaashi glanced up just in time to catch him staring at his mouth, before his eyes were peering into a shade of gold that made the world quiet down for a moment.</p><p>The world seemed to love stopping when Akaashi found moments to take him in.</p><p>He was pretty in the moonlight, just as much as he was in the sunset and every twilight and dawn in between.</p><p>“Stop that. You only get good marks because you're good at painting.” Akaashi says, looking away from Bokuto and staring at the yellow light-up sign in the distance for the Don Quijote. “...Just keep up your end of the deal.”</p><p>“So you couldn’t resist my devilish good looks for your photography?”</p><p>Akaashi wants to push him so that he falls backward onto the ledge, but he thinks that might be a little too mean. He pushes the imaginary Bokuto and feels a bit better from the flirting. </p><p>He instead asks him to tell him about Yukie rather than trying to come up with something to say in rebuttal, just to get the attention off of him for a moment. And he was glad he did, because Bokuto then went off on a tangent about her, his voice making the trees tremble across from them.</p><p>Akaashi learned that she was his very best friend in the world, having been neighbors since they were little.</p><p>He finds it impressive how someone could tolerate Bokuto for ten years, when he could barely get through ten minutes at a time.</p><p>He wonders how long it would be until he was able to build his tolerance up, too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi always thought Bokuto’s eyes were pretty.</p><p>They were a frail, honeyed glow that held the sun behind them, different times of the day housed behind silvery, curled lashes. </p><p>They were bright like the morning, whenever he was particularly happy about something, golden dewdrops that would flicker with a new idea on his tongue to share with Akaashi. Or maybe the sunset, when he didn’t have any inspiration and tried to find ways of spending the day with Akaashi without blatantly asking. </p><p>Akaashi especially liked when they housed dusk, when he was focused or sleepy or calm, a peaceful eventide that made him feel more at ease the more time he spent looking into them. </p><p>And he would never get tired of looking into them, something so mundane, yet seemingly ever-changing with the hour, holding wishes and truths he’d only ever see in his dreams.</p><p>Today was no exception, and Akaashi found himself getting lost in them as he was trying to teach him everything he thought was important to take photos.</p><p>Bokuto was a curious person by nature, so he really should have expected him to look so interested. He really <em> should have </em> expected his eyes to get this big when telling him about things he didn’t know.</p><p>But there was something about the blatant eagerness that made Akaashi’s heart soar, and he didn't know how to catch it the more it got away from him.</p><p>Bokuto was very endearing.</p><p>“—kaashi? Are you listening to me?”</p><p>Akaashi pulls himself back down to earth, sees Bokuto leaning forward in excitement, his hands pressed on the pavement in between them as he looks at Akaashi expectantly.</p><p>“I got distracted. I’m sorry.” He tells him, and Bokuto pouts, practically deflating as his shoulders sag.</p><p>Akaashi almost feels bad for not paying attention to him.</p><p><em> “‘kaashi~. </em>I was asking which flower you wanted me to take a picture of.”</p><p>Akaashi looks at the bush of flowers beside them, eyebrows coming together as the sun stings his eyes from where it glid through the trees above them. “The freesias.”</p><p>“Yellow ones?”</p><p>Akaashi nods, handing the camera to him. He didn’t like being possessive over things, and he <em> knew </em>he probably should have, considering this camera cost his parents a lot of money, but he felt like he could trust Bokuto to not break it.</p><p>He didn’t think he would drop it.</p><p>Akaashi watches as he gently moves the camera in his hands, so that the lens is facing the yellow freesias beside them. They were in a good spot, a walkway beneath some trees, where bits of sunlight speckled the flowers around them depending on how it set and rose for the day. Nobody was here now, so it felt like they had the garden to themselves.</p><p>It was nice coming alone, but Akaashi thinks he might like it better when Bokuto was here.</p><p>No, when <em> anyone </em> came here with him.</p><p>The company was nice.</p><p>Bokuto seems almost terrified as he takes a photo of the flowers, and when the click sound bounces off of the leaves around them, he gasps, a tiny smile on his face.</p><p>“Look, Akaashi!”</p><p>Akaashi takes the camera from him and looks into the LCD screen, seeing the freesias, along with a patch of pink dahlias peeking out at him from the corner.</p><p>“You see how good I did? I did good, right?”</p><p>“You got the dahlias in the back,” Akaashi points this out. “I wanted just the freesias.”</p><p>Bokuto hums, looking at the dahlias with a stern face, as if they would apologize for getting in his photo. This time, Akaashi does not resist the urge to smile, and gives the camera back to him.</p><p>“It’s okay, Bokuto.” Akaashi looks at the flowers, and the trees shake above him, light caressing the petals in a way that practically made them glow. “Take another.”</p><p>“This is hard.” Bokuto grumbles, bringing it up to his eyes again.</p><p>Eventually, after moving to three different spots and with many different flowers to take photos of, Bokuto settled on three that he really liked. Akaashi did, too, and he promised to develop them for him so he could keep them.</p><p>This made Bokuto smile and thank him <em> very, very much! </em>In which Akaashi nodded and told him it wasn’t a big deal.</p><p>It wasn’t, although it felt like it should have been. It should’ve been a big deal to hang out with Bokuto Koutarou in a place that brought him peace, that brought him a sense of familiarity and calmness that he could rarely get back at the dorms. </p><p>It <em> should’ve </em> <em>been</em> a big deal to have that same feeling now, even moreso when Bokuto was sitting beside him on the swinging bench in front of the lake Akaashi liked to frequent, rocking them back and forth beneath the shade of another tree.</p><p>The wind was mild as it practically skated through Akaashi’s hair and beneath his black sweater, the sun warm from where it slotted through the leaves above them.</p><p>“Is this a date?” Bokuto asks suddenly, tilting his head as he looks at Akaashi.</p><p>The other’s breath noticeably hitches as he stares at the water, eyes wide. He tries, <em> very </em>hard, not to let his face give away his thoughts on the question, hoping Bokuto didn’t catch his blushing.</p><p>It was so annoying how easily he made him do that.</p><p>“No.” He says quickly, bringing his hand up to his face as soon as Bokuto looked back at the water. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Because I don’t know if I should thank you for hanging out with me or for taking me on a date.”</p><p>Akaashi thinks Bokuto says the strangest things sometimes, today being at the top of the list. A <em> date?  </em></p><p>What the hell.</p><p>“Well, you wouldn’t have to thank someone for taking you on a date. They wanted to if they were the ones that asked.” And Bokuto looks at him again, while Akaashi is swimming with the sharks, scared that they'd pull him under. “...We’re here just to take photos, is all.”</p><p>Bokuto nods with a hum. “Then, thank you for hanging out with me today.”</p><p>Akaashi lets a breath out, sinking into the chair and watching his feet, rolling a heel to the left, then to the right, grumbling. “We’re friends, aren’t we? We’re supposed to hang out sometimes...”</p><p>“That’s true!” Bokuto stands up, making the swing rock at the movement. “If that’s the case, let’s hang out some more!”</p><p>“Tomorrow,” Akaashi says, letting his head fall back onto the chair. “I’m pooped.”</p><p>“We did do a lot today...” Bokuto says, more to himself, tapping his chin with his forefinger in thought. “You wanna go home?”</p><p>“Not yet. After sunset.” Akaashi says, wanting Bokuto to sit beside him again instead of staring at him from where he was standing up. </p><p>He did, and Akaashi was okay.</p><p>It was weird.</p><p>Akaashi always felt the worst thing he’s ever had to admit to himself was that he looked up to Bokuto.</p><p>He was very wrong. </p><p>The worst thing he’s ever had to admit to himself was that he really likes spending time with him in the places that mattered, especially here. </p><p>He reminded him of fireworks, where you would light a fuse and wait for the sparks to reach. When they did, it was the most magnificent thing. Greens and violets and reds would paint the sky, a navy canvas for each color to be showcased. There was color in him, sparks of blue in his smile, an explosion of white when he was happy, flickers of pink within every thought.</p><p>And in this, Akaashi thought Bokuto had some of the brightest colors he’d ever seen.</p><p>He decides he would bring him the next time he wanted to practice taking photos, just to see if it would make a difference doing something you liked with someone you liked, too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. we could be anything</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi thinks there was a pretty good chance that his chest might explode.</p><p>He never liked speaking in front of the class, or anyone he didn’t know, really.</p><p>He had a hard time making friends, not because he didn’t like <em> making them, </em>he just didn’t like the process of doing so. There was something about the intense stress within the threat of a bad first impression that didn’t sit right with him.</p><p>So now, as he had to discuss his photos in front of the entire class, one could imagine how much he would rather be doing literally anything else right now.</p><p>He swallows and tries to stop his fingers from shaking, placing the first photo he’d developed of Bokuto beneath the projector lens, not daring to look at it on the bigger screen beside him. His ears kind of gave out on the way up here, so he really hoped the professor didn't ask him anything important. </p><p>He wonders if he should just keep his eyes on the photos so that he didn't have to look at anyone.</p><p>No, that would be weird. That would be rude.</p><p>“Um…” The tips of Akaashi’s ears are red and his heart was in his stomach and this was <em>so embarrassing. </em>Trying to imagine everyone as potatoes did not work today, despite how the mangas made it look. “I’m Akaashi Keiji. I’ll be...talking about the photos I took for our, uh, recent assignment.”</p><p>Akaashi glances at Konoha, who silently supported him with a dumb yearbook smile, feeling a little better at the distraction, if only for a moment.</p><p>He swallows, but his mouth is still dry and his heart still feels like it's shriveling up in his chest. Should he have brought water with him?</p><p>“This is just the guy I live with,” Akaashi says, letting his free hand fall by his thigh and tapping his ring finger onto the fabric of his jeans, needing something to take up the other half of his head.</p><p>“I wanted to do something surrounding the concept of hands. I think they’re kind of overlooked, as they’re expected to do things. Holding cups or pens, or...other hands.”</p><p>He concentrates on the photo in front of him, Bokuto’s hands against the sky as the sun slots through his fingers. He remembers the moment very clearly, and it somehow calms him.</p><p>“Why not choose a different body part?” His professor asks, a pen between her fingers as she sits back in her chair, looking at the projector screen.</p><p>Akaashi knew she would ask questions, like she did to everyone else, but now as it was happening to him in real time, he started to draw blanks.</p><p>“Because…” Akaashi starts, sighing softly to try and regain his thoughts. He tries his best to hold onto the question before it slipped his head. “They’re not the first thing people notice about someone. Some people look at eyes first, or...hair, or clothes. The way we use our hands is very socially significant. I wanted to bring attention to that.”</p><p>She nods, her expression unchanging, and Akaashi moves on, thankful that it was a good enough answer for her. He really didn’t know how to elaborate on anything else, his thoughts and ideas coming to him in more like a movie, rather than an outline or a script.</p><p>And honestly, the more he spoke out about this project, the more stupid he felt. Photography always was a very personal thing for him, and he liked talking about it, but talking about this particular concept out loud made it lose its meaning.</p><p>It was one of those things that felt cool when thinking about it, but sounded really dumb when you spoke about it aloud. Akaashi thinks maybe he should have just focused on taking photos of eyes, or roads even, like that Matsukawa guy did. </p><p>It was over quickly, in retrospect, but Akaashi still felt the searing embarrassment in his bones from speaking in front of the class, even when the day was over, when everyone forgot about it and was probably worried about getting enough sleep tonight.</p><p>Upon expressing this to Bokuto when he asked (more like pried, and Akaashi was too embarrassed to tell him a detailed reason, so he just settled on having a strange day), he was immediately presented with an offer for dinner and karaoke with him, in which he accepted on the basis of <em> hanging out with his friend. </em></p><p>Just like they were supposed to.</p><p>“Hey, hey! We should do that full course meal thing!” Bokuto says, pushing the doors to the dorms open with Akaashi behind him, the night cold on his skin.</p><p>“What thing?” Akaashi asks, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets immediately, the wind chilly now that fall reaching its end.</p><p>“Think of a place to get drinks.” Bokuto turns on his heel to look at Akaashi, and there is one of those smiles on his face where only half was upturned and made an adorable indent in his cheek.</p><p>Akaashi decided to humor him, and as he thinks into the sidewalk, he thought of an ice cream parlor near them.</p><p>“Okay.” He says, looking up at him. “Now what?”</p><p>“I have one in mind, too. Rock, paper, scissors on where we go. If I win, we go to get bubble tea and you pay for it. If you win, we go to get…”</p><p>“Milkshakes,” Akaashi says, the image of a giant glass of oreo sugar making his stomach churn (in the good way, this time).</p><p>Bokuto holds his hand up in a fist, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “And I pay for it. Ready?”</p><p>“This is childish,” Akaashi mutters, staring at the silver ring around Bokuto’s thumb, the moon smiling back at him from where it caught her reflection. “Why can’t we just discuss where to go and decide from that?”</p><p>“Because where is the fun in that?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi makes a face, thinking Bokuto saw through him way too well, before quickly pulling his hand out of his jacket pocket and making a fist right beside Bokuto’s before he had a chance to make up his mind.</p><p>“First comes rock!” Bokuto’s eyes are gleaming, and Akaashi thinks that if something like this made him this happy, then he wouldn’t mind doing it a million times over. “Rock, paper, scissors!”</p><p>And Akaashi felt almost defeated that his scissors had been crushed by Bokuto’s rock, probably cheated somehow and asked the universe to make him give this one, but he told himself to throw it again the next time they played, hoping maybe he’d win the next round.</p><p>He was going to kick his ass next time.</p><p>Akaashi’s thoughts were quickly softened out as Bokuto then brought up what he did in math class today out of nowhere on their way, and Akaashi almost wants to tell him about his photography presentation, but he didn’t want to be bullied by Bokuto’s stupid flirting. He would probably call him cute or something dumb like that, because he got embarrassed for something involving him.</p><p>How annoying.</p><p>Bokuto takes him to a small shop on the corner of an avenue not too far from the dorms themselves, and of course, Bokuto asked for <em> the most </em>expensive drink on that menu, knowing it would come from Akaashi's wallet rather than his own.</p><p>What the hell even was a Jackfruit Lychee Cinnamon Sugar Swirl Bubble Master Deluxe anyway?</p><p>Akaashi would never get it.</p><p>“You are such a pain in the ass,” Akaashi grumbles, angrily chewing on a tapioca pearl from his own drink as he keeps his eyes trained on the night sky to his right.</p><p>He didn’t mind it, though. This was the first bubble tea he’s had since he was six, and it tasted wonderful, so he thinks it was okay. Bokuto happily drinks his tea, and while he was tasting it, Akaashi can’t help but look at him.</p><p>Commanding attention, as usual.</p><p>His silver hair was slicked up with that freeze gel he liked to use when he wasn’t in the dorms all day, the ends of it slightly curled from where he probably ran his hands through, stray strands that weren’t held back falling into his face and around his ears. </p><p>Bokuto had really round cheeks that Akaashi hadn’t noticed until now. </p><p>He wanted to poke them.</p><p>“Want some?” Bokuto asks, holding his cup out to Akaashi, and it was here when he realizes he was probably staring too much into him and gave Bokuto the wrong message.</p><p>Akaashi looks at the ground and shakes his head, thankful that the night covered the crimson that seemed to stain the tip of his ears.</p><p>“No.” Akaashi shakes his head, although it <em> did </em>sound interesting.</p><p>He has never heard of lychee and jackfruit together, much less with cinnamon sugar. He thinks it suited someone like Bokuto, however, candy and spices and sweets that seemed to go well together.</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>Akaashi huffs through his nose, knowing Bokuto definitely wouldn’t let this one go, either. He leans forward a bit, looking at the cup as best as he could from where it was, before tasting it.</p><p>Akaashi makes a face, and Bokuto smiles.</p><p>The flavor was actually really gross. But as long as Bokuto liked it, it was okay.</p><p>“I hate that,” Akaashi says, and he — much to his dismay — finds himself holding his own drink up to Bokuto’s mouth, feeling dumb. “You might like this one.”</p><p>“Taro?” Bokuto asks, and sips Akaashi’s tea without a second (or third or fourth, <em> fifth, </em>even) thought.</p><p>It makes his stomach fall and he was suddenly too full for anything else. He could only nod in response to Bokuto’s question, and he doesn’t watch him try it because that was weird and Akaashi was <em> not weird. </em></p><p>“You have good taste, Akaashi.” Bokuto nods, and he shrugs dismissively.</p><p>“I do. Good thing we’re friends, considering you have terrible taste in everything.”</p><p>Bokuto rolls his eyes while gently pushing Akaashi’s shoulder, and Akaashi notices the spark behind that same shade of gold that seemed to come from him saying they were friends.</p><p>It’s like Bokuto actually really liked the fact that they were friends, now. Akaashi didn’t know how to feel about that.</p><p>Bokuto ended up winning again, sharing takoyaki with him from a vendor not too far away, and Akaashi, fortunately, won for dinner and dessert.</p><p>Akaashi had learned that Bokuto is the type of person to share everything with you, no matter what it was. Despite asking for his own things, Bokuto held out his takoyaki for him to try when they got their appetizers, insisted on him tasting his katsudon (despite Akaashi eating from this same place nearly every week), and he held out a spoonful of ice cream at the end of the night.</p><p>Akaashi knew he couldn’t really say no to eyes that were so expectant, so he made sure to try it, just to make him happy.</p><p>Subtle acts like that also made him really happy, so he didn’t mind it.</p><p><em>Bokuto</em> also made him really happy, but he wasn’t sure how good that part really was for him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a Friday night, and Akaashi could not prepare himself enough for how exhausted he felt.</p><p>Bokuto asked for him to be his model for his next project a few days ago, in which he happily agreed. Except he forgot how bad Bokuto was with finding inspiration sometimes, and he did weird things in order to gain it. </p><p>Ideas have ranged from walking in and out of Don Quijote four times, to painting both his and Akaashi’s nails with the black polish he’d bought from said Don Quijote, to spinning in a circle standing on the ledge of the fountain in their university, to singing their high school’s alma mater in three different keys (which all sounded terrible, by the way – neither of them could sing to save their life, and despite Akaashi trying to follow suit, he burst out laughing with every verse that left Bokuto’s mouth and couldn’t breathe by the time he was done).</p><p>Bokuto, on the other hand, thinks that the self-humiliation he caused was worth it in the end, because he had a few ideas in his head after seeing Akaashi smile as big as he did.</p><p>It’s been almost 15 hours since Bokuto asked him to embark on an adventure with him, and he was honestly ready to sleep.</p><p>It went like this: Bokuto asked Akaashi to help him get motivated, Akaashi tried his best to explain to him how he needs time rather than trying to rush it, Bokuto decided that he would pull an all-nighter until it came to him, and Akaashi argued that he needs to do it by himself because he was the artist and Akaashi was just there for support.</p><p>Then Bokuto grabbed Akaashi’s hand because he was wearing silver rings that day, and he moved his fingers around in the sunlight, asking with a simple <em> please? </em>And it was enough to make Akaashi melt a little, his soft gaze like torches to Akaashi’s skin of candle wax, and he found himself on the roof with him, trying not to pass out with Bokuto beside him. </p><p>In their time together, Akaashi has learned that Bokuto liked playing with things that grabbed his attention, his fingers being one of them. He didn’t know exactly which line it crossed, but he thinks that when he finds it, he would blur it out, just a little. </p><p>It started out as gentle, hesitant touches, but as time passed, and the more Bokuto stepped, he started messing with Akaashi’s palms, sometimes tracing the lines in them, or poking the back of it, often drawing shapes on his skin that caused goosebumps to trickle down his spine, feathers in his fingertips.</p><p>He was starting to really like the way his heart fluttered when Bokuto was the one causing it.</p><p>The sun was down and the sky was filled with dusk, mopping a warm orange onto the roof and over the pink in Bokuto’s cheeks from the slight chill of the wind. He stares at the clouds, wisps against a blanket of champagne, as he listens to Bokuto count backward from fifteen, each number having its own ring to it as he tries to find some motivation in that. </p><p>“...three...two~...one!” Akaashi looks up at Bokuto expectantly, who deflates and closes his eyes, rubbing at them. “It did not work, Akaashi.” </p><p>“Why don’t you talk to me about something?” He swings one leg over the ledge of the roof, facing Bokuto and causing the other to do the same, swaying a little from lack of sleep. “Maybe talking about random things will help you.”</p><p>“Hm…” Bokuto looks at the clouds, before staring at Akaashi’s hands from where they’d been resting on the ledge in between them. “Oh! I’ve always wanted to ask – you like to garden?”</p><p>Akaashi hesitantly shakes his head as he thinks, hoping he didn’t tell Bokuto once that he <em> did </em>like to garden and was falling back on his word.</p><p>“I don’t...Why?”</p><p>“You have a gardening calendar.” </p><p>Akaashi nods and looks down at his hands, too, instead of into Bokuto’s eyes. They were intimidating still, somehow, even as they were burning with interest over Akaashi’s flower calendar. </p><p>“My moms like to garden. I’ve always liked the flowers they’d plant.” Akaashi nods, and the memory brings back a slightly nostalgic feeling to come back to him, rung around his ribcage before settling in his gut. </p><p>“You have any favorite flowers?” Bokuto tilts his head, and there is that same excitement that he had whenever talking about a new idea. “I like the, um…the red ones from Kakei-en.”</p><p>“The dahlias?” Akaashi asks, the memory bringing a gentle heat to his face unprompted.</p><p>It was not a date, it was <em> not </em>a date.</p><p>“The dahlias!” Bokuto shouts, but Akaashi can’t find it within himself to get annoyed at the volume raise.</p><p>He found himself not getting as upset with Bokuto like he used to get, and instead found most things endearing.</p><p>He was lovely when he spoke too loud, or silently played with Akaashi's fingers in the middle of their conversations, or when he brought him things just because they <em> reminded me of you!  </em></p><p>Akaashi had random rocks and snacks and dead flowers and a Rubik’s cube in the corner of his desk from where Bokuto had randomly brought him them, just because they were a reminder of his roommate.</p><p>Truly, looking in on them from an outside lens, it was hard to believe they used to despise each other. They still competed sometimes, over silly things, like who could chug the most water and hold the longest note, but Akaashi found the little pushes to be good for him.</p><p>It made him want to try harder at everything else.</p><p>And Akaashi thinks that if dahlias made Bokuto this radiant, he would plant him a whole garden full, if he could.</p><p>“I really like forget-me-nots, or roses,” Akaashi tells him, watching the way the sun skates over his cheeks, stopping at his silvery lashes that swooped over gold like the tide of the sea. “Petunias and marigolds are also very beautiful.”</p><p>“Ah.” Bokuto nods and looks past Akaashi’s shoulder, staring at what he assumed was the sign of the Don Quijote. “What about cherry blossoms?”</p><p>Akaashi shrugs one shoulder, trying to ignore how Bokuto scooted himself a little closer to Akaashi, a tiny smile on his face</p><p>“I like them, too.” Akaashi tries to imagine a cherry blossom sitting at the top of Bokuto’s ear, how the delicate pink would look beside sharp silver and black, how it would look falling in flurries behind him in the spring. “They would look nice on you.”</p><p>“They would?” Bokuto asks, his eyes doing that familiar flickering thing that made Akaashi think of lanterns and fireflies. “It’s because of my hair, right?”</p><p>Akaashi nods, barely. “Yeah...maybe.”</p><p>“Hm. We should go to the festival together in April.”</p><p>Akaashi shakes his head, knowing that mostly couples went to those kinds of things, and seeing other people kiss each other beneath the fall of cherry blossoms would make him get ideas he would much rather keep locked in boxes to throw out into the sea.</p><p>“Maybe.” He settles on that answer, rather than a solid yes or no that would kill him in the future.</p><p>He thinks there was a pretty good chance Bokuto would kill him before then, though.</p><p>“Ask me something,” Bokuto says, and absentmindedly reaches out to pick up Akaashi’s right hand. "I think it's helping."</p><p>He feels too hot for what the weather was like today, staring into the trees beside him and trying to ignore the delicate touches Bokuto pressed to his skin, spreading his pointer and pinky apart, then tilting his hand towards the sun as he thinks. </p><p>“Um...why...how did you do so well in school?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto stops playing with his fingers as he thinks, eyes shining. </p><p>Bokuto seems almost hesitant to talk about it, probably because he thought it would make Akaashi feel bad, and would rather talk about something they both had an interest in.</p><p>It was weird — he normally would jump on any opportunity to make Akaashi feel small.</p><p>Hm.</p><p>“Well. I like art, you know?” Akaashi nods, barely able to glance up at him briefly to make sure he knew he was listening, despite refusing to look at him. “It was much easier to think of things like I was painting. It was easy to remember what I studied if I acted like I was painting them on a canvas.”</p><p>“Explain that to me.” Akaashi accidentally curls his forefinger over Bokuto’s, before he quickly straightens them out, not wanting for him to—.</p><p>Bokuto slots his fingers through Akaashi’s, only half, and he thanks his lucky <em> fucking </em>stars he didn’t do it all the way. </p><p>He wouldn’t be able to breathe had he did.</p><p>“Applying what you know to understand the concepts. People use flashcards, or write little stories.” Akaashi watches Bokuto lightly stroke the side of his hand with his thumb, staring at the street beneath them. “I used paint. I didn’t <em> really </em>paint them, but...more imagined it. Like, for bio, I would imagine painting the Krebs cycle in a human body, and that always helped.”</p><p>“So art helps you understand the world around you,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto nods with a half-smile.</p><p>“Yeah. It makes life fun for me.” </p><p>Akaashi thinks that was wonderful. Bokuto was, in his purest form, a creative mind. Akaashi liked to imagine a pretty world surrounding him when he was working, thinking, painting.</p><p>Butterflies settle in his head, as his mind blooms with flowers, rainbows pouring from his ears. </p><p>Akaashi smiles.</p><p>“I like talking to you like this,” Bokuto says, staring into their hands. “Your voice helps a lot. I wanna paint. I don’t know what, exactly.”</p><p>And Akaashi thinks he likes Bokuto’s voice, too.</p><p>His voice ranged from many gradients, many different colors that would flutter from his throat and coat the walls in his room, or the tables at their favorite cafes, or wherever Bokuto wanted to take him to. </p><p>In the mornings, when his voice was heavy with sleep, he often splashed oranges and yellows over his bedsheets. Akaashi would find turquoise and violets on the floor or in the dorm kitchen at night, when the moon covered them in an ivory primer and they were safe inside of their dorm. </p><p>Akaashi loved it especially when the world was quiet, and as if to not wake the moon, he would whisper to him, words in a silvery hushed tone that would melt in his hands had he reached out to catch them.</p><p>“Yeah. Me, too.” Akaashi would never be caught dead telling Bokuto something like this, but he thinks, while the moon was coming out to keep their secrets safe, he didn’t mind letting it slip.</p><p>The rainbows shimmer again, and Akaashi wonders what’s so provoking for him to be quiet like this, staring into their hands. Akaashi's heart falls as Bokuto looks at his mouth again, his blood heating up quickly. Bokuto's face was unreadable, and Akaashi parts his lips to say something, <em>anything </em>to ease the tension that had settled itself between them, before the door to the roof opens.</p><p>“—and I said to him—Bokuto? Akaashi!”</p><p>Akaashi nearly falls off the ledge as a familiar voice tears their bubble in half, their glass fortress shattered at their feet at the intrusion.</p><p>They look over to the door, and see Kuroo and Kenma, who had his sweatpants tucked into long socks, his hoodie over his head with the strings tied. Akaashi <em> knew </em>Kuroo was the one that did that to him, probably against his free will.</p><p>“Kuroo?”</p><p>Kuroo glances at their hands, and Akaashi’s eyes blow wide as he stares at them, too, as if he wasn't aware that he was holding<em> Bokuto Koutarou's</em> hand on the roof of their dorms as they talk about art.</p><p>It looked like...something.</p><p>Yeah, something. </p><p>Akaashi did <em> not </em> want to stray into that territory of what it <em> really </em>looked like.</p><p>Luckily for him, Bokuto lets go of his hand to wave at the two of them, and Kuroo does the same, a knowing smile on his face masked with genuine excitement to see Bokuto.</p><p>“I didn’t know we’d find you two lovebirds up here.” He says, his voice somewhat foreign as it tears the sky in half. “Kenma said Andromeda would be out tonight, so we came to see it.”</p><p>Akaashi nods while Bokuto laughs, his head thrown back like it was the funniest thing in the world. Akaashi chose to ignore Kuroo’s first statement.</p><p>“We are here because Akaashi is good at helping me find inspiration,” Bokuto says, and Kuroo nods, Kenma blinking at him with his hands in his pockets. “And because we are very much in love like you said.”</p><p>Kuroo’s eyebrows raise and Akaashi punches Bokuto’s shoulder. </p><p>“We are not in love, you dumbass.”</p><p>“What, you think I’m too smart for you?” Bokuto faces him, his eyebrows coming together incredulously, but Akaashi knew it was all for show. “Because you’d be right!”</p><p>“As if. You’re an airhead.”</p><p>“And <em> you’re </em> a stick in the mud.” Bokuto pouts, and Akaashi’s lips part, slightly offended. “Little grandpa.”</p><p>“At least I could hold my alcohol. And don’t fall all over the place like a big troll when I have it.” Akaashi knows he’s being childish, but he was not going to let Bokuto win this one.</p><p>“A <em> troll? </em>Akaashi, we are gonna fuckin’ fight.” Bokuto shakes his head, eyes big and expressive as he leans forward, and Akaashi truly wants to smack that dumb smile off of his face.</p><p>“Like I wouldn’t kick your ass all over this city.” Akaashi tilts his head, too, finding himself leaning forward, and the satisfaction he gets from Bokuto moving away from him a little bit is almost too good, the other clearly not expecting him to be so bold tonight.</p><p>Bokuto’s mouth slowly stretches into a half-grin, and Akaashi knew he was somehow going to turn this into a joke.</p><p>“...Are we about to kiss right now?”</p><p>Akaashi pulls back quickly, upset that his demeanor had been crushed so fast, but he can't find it within himself to do anything about it.</p><p>“I feel like we should not be seeing this.” Kuroo interrupts them, and Akaashi can’t look at him as the realization sets in, Kenma stifling a grin in the collar of his sweatshirt behind him.</p><p>Bokuto was able to take him out of his head — just to bicker with him, sure — that he didn’t realize how easy he did it. Akaashi was never one to just...<em>argue</em>...like that, especially in front of people.</p><p>He knew Kuroo would not let him hear the end of it, later, anyway.</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Akaashi gets up from the ledge. “Let’s go, so we could get this over with.”</p><p>“But <em> Aghaashi!” </em>Bokuto reaches out to grab his hand, the other sighing in a mixture of annoyance and humiliation. “I wanna see the city.”</p><p>“We’ve been out here all day.” Akaashi pulls Bokuto’s hand and practically drags him away from the ledge, the dorm in mind. “Come <em>on.”</em></p><p>Akaashi avoids looking at Kuroo because he was staring at him with <em> that </em>expression, one that spoke too much without saying anything at all.</p><p>Akaashi feels like he is completely fucked.</p><p>He doesn’t remember much from later that night, only that Bokuto bet he could stay up later than Akaashi, and turned their quest into a competition. </p><p>He woke up later that day with Bokuto’s hand splayed against his cheek and his legs thrown over Akaashi’s, skin covered in dried acrylic paint with a painting half done and lying at their feet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. pretty boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s December.</p><p>Akaashi found it easier to be around Bokuto. He also found it easier to earn high marks on his photography assignments, so their deal was far less bad than what he truly cared to admit.</p><p>Bokuto was fun. </p><p>He was what Akaashi could best describe as spring. Akaashi really liked the spring, because it was unpredictable.</p><p>He remembers it always being warm and sunny, flowers reaching nimble hands towards the sky, asking to be warmer, asking to grow<em>. </em>It brought the wet scatter of rain, light kisses landing on leaves and sprinkling over blue butterfly wings. Petrichor would litter the earth and bring Akaashi back home, back to his happy place, mingling with the aromas from the garden, natural candles with his favorite pretty colors.</p><p>Bokuto was also just as unpredictable, when he would shower rain all over their apartment, begging for a new idea to come to him. He would shine, almost too bright, when Akaashi offered to take him out, just to get his mind off of things. He was quiet like the nighttime, holding constellations behind his eyes as he painted, silently blossoming in his element beneath the watchful eye of the moon.</p><p>Akaashi really liked the spring, and he really liked Bokuto.</p><p>His heart found this fact out recently, and since then, he has been trying not to make it noticeable. He sometimes bumped into Bokuto by accident, or spilled things in their dorm kitchen when they were together, and dropped pens and scattered papers as they floated off of his desk because he would find himself in the middle of cold water as nerves twisted themselves around his throat and fingers and feet.</p><p>He was a total wreck on a good day, and he wholeheartedly blames Bokuto.</p><p>How stupid.</p><p>It also didn’t help that Bokuto was very flirty and <em> very </em>touchy once he got close to you. Akaashi always hated touch with a passion, only ever hugging his parents when he needed to. He thought it was something that should be reserved for someone you liked in <em>that way, </em>rather than someone you didn't.</p><p>It’s just how he was.</p><p>But he found himself trying his very best to not shy away from it when Bokuto was around.</p><p>It was hard, but he is managing to be okay with Bokuto playing with his fingers when he was bored, or letting him sling an arm around his shoulders on the walk to the ramen shop, or having Bokuto in his bed, despite the new one coming in over a month ago, perfectly new and perfectly comfortable.</p><p>Akaashi had to remind himself many times that he was just a very affectionate friend. And that was okay.</p><p>Except Akaashi was practically falling in love with this boy and didn’t know how to break it to himself that he shouldn’t be.</p><p>He liked to put that thought away though. It was his usual bout of acting like it didn’t exist would somehow make it <em> not exist.  </em></p><p>He was never successful with that, but he hoped that one day, it might ring true.</p><p>“Did you see that, Akaashi? I mean, <em> look </em> at those awesome photos!” Bokuto turns his head to look at him from where he was resting on his stomach, sweeping him out of his thoughts again as he hands him back his camera.</p><p>He was so excited, like a sun with rays that got brighter with each passing day. Akaashi liked to think about that time when Bokuto said Akaashi was his moon, and he is reminded daily of how close to the truth he’d been.</p><p>They completed each other, that was obvious.</p><p>“I see them,” Akaashi says calmly, looking through Bokuto’s photos on the LCD screen and studying the peonies in the center, the leaves of the tree above them waving with a gust of wind. “You followed the golden ratio.”</p><p>“I tried to. Just like you said!” </p><p>Akaashi smiles and keeps going through the photos. These were a lot better than last time. He liked the idea of having only himself to credit for Bokuto’s growing skill, but he knew Bokuto was the type to go at anything, no matter what it was, so it would be a lie.</p><p>Bokuto watches him tap through his photos, watching the silver ring in his nose glint in the sun.</p><p>He did that a lot lately; taking in all of Akaashi’s air and earth and space and conscience. He was wearing a big black sweater that hung a little too loosely from his shoulders, dark jeans to match, and despite wearing this to blend in, Bokuto thinks black was the most dangerous color there was, so long as Akaashi took advantage of it.</p><p>Black hair and black clothes and black enigma, all shrouding a beauty that was prettier than anything Bokuto could imagine.</p><p>And as his eyebrows come together as he thinks, Bokuto thinks looking at Akaashi from where he was is more breathtaking than the yellow freesias themselves.</p><p>“You’re doing better, Bo,” Akaashi says. “I’m almost...proud of you.”</p><p><em> “Aghaashi!” </em>Bokuto’s voice is heavy with a whine as he slumps against Akaashi’s stomach, his ear pressed to the fabric of his sweater.</p><p>Akaashi wonders if he could hear his butterflies flitting.</p><p>“How’s your project coming along?” Akaashi asks, setting the camera in the grass beside him as he adjusts the position of his head, staring into the tree above them. </p><p>“Not good, actually,” Bokuto admits, holding his hand out and watching as the patterns of sunlight skip over his skin. “But I think if we keep going on more dates like this, then it will help.”</p><p>Akaashi feels like he should be sick of that word. Sure, they did everything that people do on dates. Sure, things seemed to often slip past platonic many times when they spent time with each other.</p><p><em> Sure </em>, Akaashi would much rather be in Bokuto’s company than being alone recently.</p><p>But it was <em> not </em> a date, and Akaashi stood by that.</p><p>“This is not a date.”</p><p>“I looked it up because I knew you would say that,” Bokuto says, sitting up from where he was resting on Akaashi’s stomach. The other rolls his eyes before letting them settle on Bokuto’s.</p><p>“What’s your argument?” And the question comes out as more of an exhausted statement, but Bokuto still answers as if it did not.</p><p>“A date is when you hang out with someone who you like very much.”</p><p>“I like Kuroo very much. Those aren’t dates.”</p><p>“They are, too,” Bokuto says. “There’s a difference between going on a date and <em> dating.” </em></p><p>Akaashi blinks at him, and Bokuto nods, before looking into the grass where his hands were resting. “We <em> are </em> on a date. And usually, people bring flowers and stuff for their date..." Bokuto rolls his eyes to Akaashi, suggestive. "...in which I have yet to receive."</p><p>“Fine. I’ll pick you some roses before we leave.”</p><p>“That is illegal here. But I appreciate the lengths you’d go just to prove your love for me.”</p><p>“Will you stop that?” Akaashi shoves Bokuto as hard as he could from where he was lying down in the grass, and despite Akaashi acting annoyed, he couldn’t help but smile as Bokuto giggles, falling over into the grass.</p><p>“What else did you look up about dates?” Akaashi asks, just to fill the time, humoring him. “You learn anything that might help you stop being single?”</p><p><em> “You </em>oughta learn something.” Bokuto sits up again, poking Akaashi’s stomach with both of his forefingers, knowing he was ticklish there. “Unless you finally tied the knot with Kuroo.”</p><p>Akaashi breathes out a laugh and pushes Bokuto’s hands away. “At all! I will never date Kuroo.”</p><p>“Either way, no. That’s all I learned online about dates.” Bokuto’s smile falls quietly, golden eyes flicking back and forth between his own hands from where they were resting on Akaashi’s stomach.</p><p>He looked serious, but Akaashi couldn’t tell what was going on this time. He looked like he had a million things happening all at once, like someone was playing ten different songs at the same time that just never synced up with each other. He wonders what the falter was about, his own heart thrumming in his chest at the interaction, at the paths that this conversation could go.</p><p>Knowing Bokuto, this was just another routine that would embarrass Akaashi regardless.</p><p>“People are supposed to kiss on dates.”</p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes and looks at the trees again, shaking his head with a smile, finding it easy to play along with Bokuto’s flirting from all the time they spend together.</p><p>He would definitely beat him. He would <em> not </em>falter this time.</p><p>“If you wanna kiss me so bad, all you gotta do is—”</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p><em>Okay</em>, he was faltering.</p><p>Akaashi sits up on his hands in a slight panic, finding it difficult to breathe as he searches Bokuto’s face for any trace of a joke. He was almost desperate as he hoped to latch onto any hint that this was just another thing Bokuto would use to make fun of him with, but…</p><p>There was none.</p><p>Akaashi had been wanting to kiss Bokuto for a while, and he was sure the other didn't <em>not </em>know. He imagined it would be cliche and insignificant, probably at a party when alcohol was playing with their puppet strings and turned their blood into teddy bear stuffing, to where it didn't mean anything to each other. He thought it would be forgotten in a day afterward, much like the movies liked to script.</p><p>He didn’t imagine it’d be like this.</p><p>There was a dissonance happening in his chest, his head telling him to say no, that he was just kidding, while his heart was screaming at him to close the gap. Bokuto is watching his mouth, seemingly not hesitant at all, or interested in anything else but Akaashi’s lips.</p><p>
  <em> Close the gap, close the gap! </em>
</p><p>Akaashi takes a small breath through his nose and his stomach falls.</p><p>“What’s stopping you?” Is all he asks, and Bokuto raises his eyebrows for a moment, some kind of unspoken boundary being lifted to let Bokuto in.</p><p>He couldn’t put a name on the driving force that caused him to say that. All he knew was that he was putting his heart into the hands of an unknown, and he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.</p><p>Akaashi has to will himself to breathe once Bokuto crawls closer to him, and he holds himself up on one hand while the other is beneath Akaashi’s chin, tilting his jaw up towards him from where he was. His fingers spread a heat through Akaashi’s face that reacts with the blush beneath his skin, setting his body aflame in this simple gesture.</p><p>Without a second thought, Bokuto kisses him beneath the biggest tree they could find in Kakei-en, and makes Akaashi’s whole world crumble in his space.</p><p>His mind is made of white noise and black holes as Bokuto’s lips press against his own, apprehensive and curious all the same. He tastes like cherries and his glasses are pressing into his cheeks from the pressure, and Akaashi finds it addictive and distressing all the same, knowing he wouldn’t be able to let go of it for a while.</p><p>All of their bickering and yelling and irritation had all come to a peak, and Akaashi was sinking the more he tried to let it out. He had slipped past the surface already, but the water was warm, in the way Bokuto's mouth moved against his own like currents, hesitation in his way his lips brushed like cold fog.</p><p>The kiss was harsh and gentle and ever so <em> telling, </em>yet Akaashi couldn’t distinguish exactly what they were trying to explain to each other.</p><p>Bokuto pulls back slightly, and Akaashi surprises the both of them when he leans forward to catch his lips again, kissing him again, and again, and again.</p><p>Bokuto’s eyebrows come together, not being able to keep up with everything he’d been pouring into how his lips moved, his feelings mixed and free as he let them go for Akaashi to catch. They felt almost made for each other, perfectly set in how he was kissing him, touching him, a silent resolve settling itself between them. </p><p><em> This. </em>This was what Bokuto had been missing.</p><p>Akaashi is the one to pull away this time, ducking his head and trying to catch his breath from where Bokuto had taken it, the other resting his forehead on his own, trying to bring himself back from space, trying to keep his head tethered to the ground from where it was with the stars.</p><p>Akaashi’s arms fall weak and he finds himself falling forward instead, his black hair messy and his cheeks puffed pink as he hides his face in the crook of Bokuto’s neck.</p><p>“I also forgot to mention that you only go on dates with people you have a romantic interest in,” Bokuto says, cheekily, holding onto Akaashi. “So, yes. We are on a date.”</p><p>Akaashi brings his hands up to his face once the realization settles, trying to stop shaking.</p><p>That was too much thrill for one day.</p><p>And while Akaashi thinks he was too embarrassing for a person to be normal, Bokuto thinks he was incredibly endearing.</p><p>His Pretty Boy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CANNOT BELIEVE THEY HAD THEIR FIRST KISS 17 CHAPTERS IN HHHHH i did not mean to wait this long wow ;-;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. decisions, decisions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello friends!!</p>
<p>very happy to say that i have finally finished this au! i hope you read the rest and enjoy it!!</p>
<p>i listened to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE2E2aAAO5s&amp;t=746s">dreamy songs that remind me of keiji akaashi</a> while editing this and it made me so &lt;3333 so pls listen to it if you'd like! very dreamy indeed</p>
<p>enjoy! and thank you for visiting me today!&lt;333</p>
<p>p.s. pls excuse my use of italics in this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi Keiji does not know what the <em> fuck </em> he’s going to do.</p>
<p>It felt like he was at a fork in the road he’s been cruising down. </p>
<p>To the left — a dirt path covered in fog that leads into dark, twisted brambles — is to forget about that day at the garden. </p>
<p>He would forget about it and hope Bokuto did, too, and they would continue their friendship or frenemy-ship or whatever the hell they had going on, because that’s what worked for them, has <em> been </em>working for them, and always has. He was used to the thorns and the sharp branches, his cuts scabbed over, his skin thick from all that time in high school. </p>
<p>He was used to choking on the fog. </p>
<p>On the other path — yellow bricks and sunshine and butterflies and everything cheesy and stupid that Akaashi associated with happiness — is to see where it led, to be honest with himself, to keep breaking down every brick wall his head tried to build to keep Bokuto out.</p>
<p>He was too scared of the newness Bokuto brought after that day at the garden, too terrified to let himself love him just enough to where his dreams escaped and let him live in them. He was afraid of messing things up, afraid of creating a rift in their universe to where things turned to shit before they really had a chance to begin.</p>
<p>He was terrified of losing him.</p>
<p>And despite knowing he really shouldn’t be worried about it, because that’s how relationships were, Bokuto had made it clear that day that he had a <em> romantic interest </em>in him. There was no getting around that.</p>
<p>Akaashi liked to believe that said interest sprang out of nowhere, a spur of the moment thing, and that Bokuto was just easy to give his heart out to him. That’s just how he was.</p>
<p>But whenever he thought about it — all the times they’d spend together, how Bokuto held his hands, how he looked at him as if he was the only one deserving of his attention, how he stayed in his fucking <em> bed </em>after he got his own…</p>
<p>Well, Akaashi kind of felt stupid for refusing to catch on that quickly.</p>
<p>He still wasn’t sure if it was something offhand – that Bokuto kissed him because he was <em> literally </em>egging him on to do it and he was the type to never shy away from a challenge – or if he truly meant it.</p>
<p>Did <em>Akaashi </em>even mean it himself?</p>
<p>He had been running away from his fears for the past few days now, hot and threatening as they sprinted right behind him, yearning nipping at his heels as the phantoms of insecurity wrapped around his throat. </p>
<p>It was hard to breathe.</p>
<p>He’s been leaving the dorm early and going to bed even earlier, keeping their interactions short, the complete opposite of what he wanted to do, of what he was <em> supposed </em>to do with him.</p>
<p>It was strange.</p>
<p>Even now, as he made a point to go to Kuroo’s today, as Bokuto was starting a painting on his own bed, he was hurrying to get dressed in the corner of the room near their closets, so he could leave quickly and not have to deal with the awkwardness that the two of them let fester within their dorm. </p>
<p>There was a white lollipop stick in Bokuto’s mouth, and his hair was back in a headband, the one with the gold trim.</p>
<p>And Akaashi didn’t know if he was fortunate or unlucky enough that Bokuto took the hint and slept in his own bed for the past couple of days, but he didn’t like to think of that so much.</p>
<p>Stale <em> good mornings </em> and <em> yeahs </em> and <em> okays </em>were passed between them, the grounds they stepped on like unstable fault lines. Akaashi wanted a lot more than that.</p>
<p>He was just <em> scared </em> of him. Bokuto was his very first anything, always rejecting advances in high school because he didn’t have time for them, but he felt almost pathetic to make it <em> this </em>obvious.</p>
<p>Jeez.</p>
<p>“Are you…going to hang out with Kuroo?” Bokuto asks into the canvas, almost timidly, and Akaashi misses the fire that would outline his words every time he spoke.</p>
<p>His voice would melt him from their warmth and he would long for the next thing he said.</p>
<p>“Um…” Akaashi searches for the embers for a brief moment, before he swallows and looks at the violet sweater in his hands, feeling himself get nervous at the confrontation he knew he would avoid, his skin cold. </p>
<p>It’s so <em> awkward</em>, and Akaashi knew it was because he was making it awkward. He couldn’t help it. He was frustrated, all the same. </p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Bokuto nods, and Akaashi sees him purse his lips in thought, his eyes still trained in a spot on the canvas, trying to come up with something else to say, all the while avoiding it. </p>
<p>The elephant in the room tramples his bed and bumps into the wall, knocking a few paintings and photographs down. </p>
<p>“Okay.” </p>
<p>Akaashi wants so badly to ask him if he wants to hang out instead. </p>
<p>He wanted to tell him that he was proud of him for painting so well and he hopes his pieces make it into the expo in February, though he’d also be competing for that spot. He wanted to say that he was sorry and he was tired of hiding from his problems. </p>
<p>He wanted to kiss him again, <em> so badly</em>.</p>
<p>Instead, he slips on his sweater quietly and grabs his phone from off his bed, shame hitching a ride on his shoulders on the way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~⚘~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Akaashi! Please pay attention to me, <em> please. </em> I think I’ll die without it.” </p>
<p>Kuroo is, of course, the one to break him out of his head this time, pulling him back into his environment and he hits the ground with a loud thud. </p>
<p>They were not in the residential cafe today, and instead found themselves in Kuroo’s dorm room, Akaashi wanting to spend as much time away from his own dorm as possible. Kenma was out with Yaku, so they had time to be together for a while. </p>
<p>Which Akaashi was thankful for, considering he felt waves better just sitting in front of Kuroo.</p>
<p>Kuroo Tetsurou, his light that he loved so much. If he wasn’t here with him, he would probably be hiding out in the library, maybe setting up a subtle camp in the corner of the campus where the trees were.</p>
<p>The sun hits him softly, making the tips of his black, messy hair shine in a stark white, like the foam of currents when they shatter against the shore. It was practically made for him, the connection not lost on Akaashi. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Akaashi says, letting himself fall backward from where he sat crisscross-applesauce on Kuroo’s bed, the sudden adrenaline rush from the fall distracts him for a moment before his brain is back in their dorm room, peeking in at Bokuto through the plexiglass he felt trapped behind. </p>
<p>“What’s going on?” Kuroo tilts his head slightly, eyes the color of amber as warm sunlight floods into them from the window beside them, casting pretty shapes over his shoulders from the glass panes. “Your tone seemed pretty distressed when you told me you were coming.”</p>
<p>Akaashi makes a face. “I texted you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. And your tone was distressed.” Kuroo says it like it’s the most obvious thing ever, and Akaashi truly wonders if he was that easy to read, even when he was texting.</p>
<p>He shrugs. “...I just wanted to hang out.”</p>
<p>“Not with <em> that </em> tone.” Kuroo shakes his head in a fluid motion, his eyebrows raised, his expression knowing. “But anyway. How’s your boyfriend?”</p>
<p>“Bokuto is not my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“You see how I literally didn’t even say who I was talking about?” Kuroo asks. “The heart speaks for itself, you know.”</p>
<p>Akaashi groans and shuts his eyes, before sighing, the weight of Bokuto’s name making his body ache.</p>
<p>“I don’t know...” Akaashi’s voice is grey clouds at the upcoming topic, feeling torrential rain filling up his chest at the mention. “Everything is weird.”</p>
<p>His heart falls, burdensome with longing and Akaashi almost feels sad for it.</p>
<p>“What?” Kuroo pulls his head back as if the name stung his skin. “I thought you guys were good?”</p>
<p>Akaashi’s cheeks flush carmine and he’s pushing his face in the blankets to hide from Kuroo, feeling his glasses indent his forehead. He doesn’t know if he’s feeling warm because of the sun or because of the memory, the remnants of the heat he felt buzzing beneath his skin.</p>
<p>“We are good. But, um…” Akaashi shuts his eyes. “I’ve been, um…kinda avoiding him…”</p>
<p>“What the fuck!” Kuroo reaches out and pulls Akaashi’s shoulder towards him to where his face was completely visible in the light, noticing the color that took to his skin. “What did you do to him?”</p>
<p>“Dammit, Kuroo….I did nothing.” Akaashi finds it difficult to spit it out, more reluctant to be honest with Kuroo than himself.</p>
<p>He didn’t want to look at him, knowing he was staring at him with patient eyes that always screamed for him to just be <em> honest. </em></p>
<p>“You’re a terrible liar.”</p>
<p>Akaashi sighs and brings his arm up to hide his eyes, taking a deep breath. Maybe if Akaashi couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t exist for a moment, and he could pretend he’s talking to himself. His glasses are pressing against his face and they make his face ache, but he leaves his arm there.</p>
<p>He feels like he deserves it.</p>
<p>He deserves to be uncomfortable for thinking this would work out, for being <em> comfortable </em> with the stagnancy of avoiding Bokuto all this time.</p>
<p>He deserved it.</p>
<p>And Kuroo wants to ask about the black polish that was beginning to chip on Akaashi’s nails, but he waits for Akaashi to speak instead.</p>
<p>“He kissed me at Kakei-en the other day.”</p>
<p>“You are shitting me.” Kuroo’s eyes widen and he has that giant open-mouthed smile on his face, but Akaashi can’t see because he was squeezing his eyes shut and hoping the blush on his face would go away. “Are you shitting me?”</p>
<p>And he knew Kuroo was making that face because he <em> knew </em>Kuroo. It was expected.</p>
<p>“Not shitting you.” </p>
<p>“So you guys <em> are </em> in love like he said?”</p>
<p>That question causes Akaashi to get even more flustered, if that were possible, and he turns on his side away from Kuroo and feels the heat beneath his palms as he presses them against his cheeks.</p>
<p><em> “No! </em> No.” Akaashi shakes his head. “No.”</p>
<p>Kuroo hums and Akaashi continues.</p>
<p>“It’s just...I dunno.” Akaashi stares at the bedsheets beneath him, his thoughts skating down the smooth white hills. “I’m just really scared I’m gonna mess it up.” He sighs heavily. “Things are working out a little too well. I feel like he’s going to get sick of me, or...things won’t be the same with us, anymore.”</p>
<p>“What, are you dating, now? Did he say he wanted to date you?”</p>
<p>Akaashi shakes his head. “Not...explicitly...<em> that </em>.”</p>
<p>And it was more of an assumption rather than a solid answer, because Akaashi had been in his own head for the rest of the day, and left the dorm as soon as they got back home. Since then, he’s been avoiding Bokuto like the plague, trying to play it off as him being extremely busy to hang out or talk with him at all.</p>
<p>His chest felt the repercussions of it, often tightening or swelling to the point where he was sure it was going to burst had he kept this up.</p>
<p>He didn’t <em> want </em>to keep this up.</p>
<p>“Then, why are you worried? It was probably just one of those things that you do because you feel like it.” Kuroo makes a motion with his hand to emphasize his point, and Akaashi thinks that statement was strange. “Probably didn’t mean anything. People kiss their friends all the time!”</p>
<p>And he knew some people do kiss their friends because they felt like it. Maybe Bokuto was the same way. Maybe it didn’t really didn’t mean anything.</p>
<p>No, but…</p>
<p>“He said he had a romantic interest. That’s gotta mean something, right?”</p>
<p>Kuroo’s eyebrows raise in a slight shock, before they come together and he makes a weird face like he smelled something really bad, a smile on his face. Akaashi almost wants to laugh, because he knows exactly why he looks like that.</p>
<p><em>“Romantic</em> <em>interest</em>...only old people say that.”</p>
<p>“Kuroo, please be serious.” Akaashi rolls his head to look at him. “I’m <em> scared, </em>dude. The last thing I want is to not be good enough. Bokuto could date literally anyone he wanted to, and he wants to be with me.”</p>
<p>“You know, Akaashi, for such a great guy, you lack a lot of confidence,” Kuroo tells him, and Akaashi shuts up because it was true, and the pill is hard to swallow and too intimidating for him to be okay with. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you! I would marry you. <em> In fact, </em>I would carry your child.” </p>
<p>“Kuroo!” Akaashi covers his face and turns over, wanting to kick Kuroo right in the chest. “Stop saying weird things to me.”</p>
<p>“Akaashi~.” Kuroo pokes the back of Akaashi’s head, trying to coax his ears to really hear him instead of just listening. “You need to find worth in yourself before you find any in Bokuto. I’m serious. You can’t let anyone else remind you that you’re a great person. You gotta know that you’re more than good enough.”</p>
<p>Akaashi feels uncomfortable. </p>
<p>He hated talking about his feelings, or letting his heart out to anyone, really. This conversation had steered off into territory that he hated straying into, and although it needed to be said, he couldn’t help the itch that prodded at his chest, mites finding their way beneath his skin, crawling.</p>
<p>Kuroo was right. He was good enough.</p>
<p>He was <em> good </em> enough.</p>
<p>“What if he didn’t mean it? What if it was another one of his dumb jokes?” Akaashi grumbles, picking a stray thread from the sleeve of the purple knit he was wearing, trying not to let it unravel. </p>
<p>“Hey, here’s a thought!” Kuroo says, tugging a piece of Akaashi’s hair to lighten the blow. “Why don’t you just talk to him, like you should have done in the first place?” He says it more like a statement, his voice kicking against the white walls of the room.</p>
<p>“I’m scared!” Akaashi practically whines, feeling his head being ripped in two. “He probably hates me now. I already fucked it up. I’ve gotta move out. Drop out and go back home. Maybe backpack in Ethiopia.”</p>
<p>“I cannot believe you.” Kuroo shakes his head with a smile. “<em>I’m </em>supposed to be the dramatic one. You’re completely cramping my style, man.”</p>
<p>Akaashi shuts his eyes as the weight of his thoughts finally begins to affect him, slipping his glasses up over his forehead and pinching the very top of his nose, hoping it would help relieve the pressure behind it.</p>
<p>It didn’t.</p>
<p>“It’s harder to deny yourself a happiness that you know you deserve. And if it’s in Bokuto, then let him in, man.” Kuroo’s voice is like a pick to the ice surrounding his brain. “Talk to him and figure out if he meant it.”</p>
<p>It was hard to believe this Kuroo speaking was the same one who set his hair on fire and put industrial soap in his washing machine in their first year of high school. It was hard to believe that this Kuroo talking something that was not nonsense was the same Kuroo who backflipped on a twin-sized bed and tried growing watermelons in his stomach as an experiment. </p>
<p>Akaashi was usually the level head in their friendship, but now, as Kuroo was organizing all of his worries for them to put away together, he is reminded of how lucky he was to have him.</p>
<p>Most people would probably be annoyed with him, had he come to them with an issue like this.</p>
<p>Kuroo, instead, was forgiving.</p>
<p>“I wanna be with him.” Akaashi turns his face away from Kuroo once again, and the butterflies in his stomach get sick once he thinks of them back at the garden, or exploring a new city, or being on the roof together, and how he might ruin the chances of that ever happening again had he kept running like this. “We started out rocky. Like, completely against each other. It’s kind of hard to not think it will end up staying unsteady.”</p>
<p>“Hey, didn’t I tell you?” Kuroo tilts his head, a delicate smile on his face. “He turned over a new leaf.”</p>
<p>Akaashi smiles. “Yeah. Reached his peak. We both did, I think.”</p>
<p>“Give him a chance, Akaashi! How will you know if you don’t try?”</p>
<p>Akaashi sighs through his nose, knowing Kuroo was very right, but knowing he would probably shy away from it, had the situation come to a head. He was never one for confrontation, much less for something that could cause him to break in just a few sentences.</p>
<p>And while Akaashi said <em> okay, </em>while he assured Kuroo that he would do exactly that, he thinks that it was Bokuto who should have been giving the chances to him.</p>
<p>He needed them. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. cold water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kuroo had convinced Akaashi to grab dinner with him today, and despite having never heard of this particular shop before, Kuroo said that they served drinks for free at a certain hour.</p><p>Akaashi couldn’t drink yet, but Kuroo could, and he wanted to take advantage of it while helping Akaashi come to terms with what he wanted to do about Bokuto.</p><p>That certain hour was in about fifteen minutes, and Akaashi didn’t bring his wallet with him before going to Kuroo’s today, so he needed to make a pit stop really quickly.</p><p>Akaashi practically bursts into his dorm as his worries caught up with him tonight, his heart slow and heavy as it beats against his chest, knocking his ribcage and making his throat swell at the thought.</p><p>He was hoping Bokuto wasn’t here, while also hoping he was, just so he could get it over with.</p><p>He knew that wasn’t a good mindset. It wasn’t a thing he needed to <em> get over with. </em> It was more of a thing that had to be done, that <em> should </em>be done, no matter how long it took.</p><p>Akaashi decided Bokuto was worth it, anyway, so he couldn’t complain too much.</p><p>And Bokuto was here, in fact, sitting on his own bed and sketching onto a new, blank canvas, a little smaller than what he usually worked with. </p><p>The room smells nice when Akaashi unlocks the door, that same candy candle burning at the edge of Bokuto’s desk and pulling memories from his conscience for him to reminisce on. There is no sound in the room, save for the skate of a mechanical pencil over the ridges of the canvas on Bokuto’s lap.</p><p>Akaashi shuts the door quietly, knowing Bokuto was working and being familiar with this type of environment, so he didn't disturb him. He was almost glad he didn’t talk, just to give him more time to rehearse exactly what he was going to say in his head by the time he got here.</p><p>And when Bokuto looks up at him as he is making his way to his desk, his head clears, and he is brought back to the garden, reminded of the gentle sway of the trees, the delicate warmth of the sun, and the light touch of fingers on his skin.</p><p>His heart plummets once Bokuto’s eyes fill, and he sets the canvas on the mattress beside him, standing up in assertion.</p><p>Stray silver hairs fall into his face and Akaashi wants to tuck them behind his ears.</p><p>“Akaashi?”</p><p>Akaashi immediately turns around and kneels down to open his backpack, fishing his wallet from the middle of it. He quickly feels his valor run out, courage draining from him as if there was a crack in his fuel tank and he wouldn’t survive without it.</p><p>Think, <em> think. </em></p><p>“Um, Kuroo and I are going out tonight…” Akaashi tells him, his voice giving him away as he tries to keep his head above water. The sharks circle his feet again, bloodthirsty, waiting. “If you want anything, I could...I could get it for you.”</p><p>“Akaashi.”</p><p>Akaashi runs a hand through his hair, feeling himself begin to flounder as his script had quickly burnt itself up and he was left with nothing to fall back on, save for pieces of charred courage and soot on his hands.</p><p>Fuck, <em> fuck</em>.</p><p>Akaashi stands up, clutching his wallet in his hand, the other clinging onto the ends of his sweater.</p><p>“Um—”</p><p>
  <em> “Keiji.” </em>
</p><p>Akaashi shuts his mouth, the name bouncing around his head as Bokuto’s voice melts over his skin. He turns around over his shoulder, and Bokuto is closer to him than last time. </p><p>His heart feels like it's about to <em> shatter</em>. </p><p>“You're avoiding me,” Bokuto says, and his eyebrows come together, eyes soft.</p><p>Akaashi looks at his feet, not daring to look into eyes so honest, that would shame him without meaning to. The leather in his hands feels like stone as he grips it for leverage, trying to hold onto his last bits of bravery in front of Bokuto.</p><p>“Is it because I kissed you?” He tilts his head, eyebrows together, and there is a palette of hurt brushed across his face at the absence of his eyes. “I’m sor—”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Akaashi speaks quickly, but he doesn’t know which one of them he’s trying to save right now.</p><p>They are caught in this tension that makes it hard for Akaashi to think about what’s leaving his mouth, makes it hard to breathe.</p><p>“What is it, then?” Bokuto asks, his voice sweeping.</p><p>Akaashi fiddles with his fingers from where they were against his leg.</p><p>“It’s just…” Akaashi hears his head screaming at him for the truth, practically begging. “We didn’t...start off the best. I…” This was so <em> difficult. </em>“I don’t know if this will be good for us.”</p><p>Akaashi bites the inside of his bottom lip as he looks up at Bokuto, the pressure letting his thoughts spread out for a moment. The boy’s eyes are flickering, meteoric with gold, skipping back and forth between his own, trying to get it. “Explain that to me.”</p><p>Akaashi sighs at his feet, shutting his eyes and feeling his chest open up. The truth did hurt, and it was sometimes really embarrassing and you wished you didn’t have to let it come to light. </p><p>Akaashi wished he could just be normal.</p><p>His voice comes out weak, like thin glass, as his heart perches on his shoulder, on full display for Bokuto to see.</p><p>“...I don’t know if you really meant it, Bo.” He says. “And I don’t wanna ruin it if you did.” </p><p>Bokuto blinked at him, his cheeks tinted scarlet and his lips were parted in thought. </p><p>Akaashi could see the rainbows bowing above Bokuto’s head, despite it being dark outside, and he wonders if he was making any sense to him. He wonders if he ruined anything, if Bokuto still felt like how he said he did, if the garden was the start he’d been longing for or the matchstick rip of his destruction.</p><p>Akaashi swallows the bundle of nerves that had been snaking its way up to his throat, his stomach falling as Bokuto steps closer to him, hesitant, his eyes never leaving his.</p><p>He couldn’t tell who was more nervous.</p><p>Slowly, Bokuto reaches out to press his hand to Akaashi’s cheek, pushing against the plexiglass until it cracked. </p><p>His touch is gentle as he holds Akaashi’s face, and Akaashi can’t help but lean into his palm, can’t help but lean into the fragile intimacy that he’d been missing for the past few days. </p><p>There is a candor that darkens the color in Bokuto’s eyes, and Akaashi misses them for a moment as he’s kissing him in the middle of their dorm. </p><p>There was more stability to this one, promising in the way he leans into him, pining in the press of his lips to Akaashi’s.</p><p>His head clears and he lets his eyes fall shut, eyebrows coming together as Bokuto pulls back slightly, only to kiss him a second time, deliberate and ardent. Bokuto angles himself in a way that doesn’t have Akaashi’s glasses pushing into his skin this time, not like at the garden, and he knows he probably spent time Googling how to do it so he stopped.</p><p>He resists the urge to smile against his mouth.</p><p>It feels like the spring again, the sun rising after rain in clarity, and Akaashi feels the flowers bloom at his feet once more. All it took were a couple of kisses and vulnerability to clear the fog, and Akaashi wants to smack himself for waiting so damn long.</p><p>Bubbles pop beneath his skin as Bokuto rests his forehead against Akaashi’s and there is a smile playing on his lips.</p><p>“I meant that one.” His voice is calming as he speaks, a tone that swallows Akaashi whole, makes him feel alive and infinite within their dorm room. He kisses him again. “And that one.” And again. “And that one.”</p><p>Akaashi keeps his eyes closed and he brings a hand up to press his fingers against Bokuto’s jaw, a light touch that was more than enough for him to remember he was real, that they were complete. The worries that drilled themselves into him were being pulled out by Bokuto’s steady hands, one at a time.</p><p>“And I meant what I said.” Bokuto tilts his head as he pulls away, a lazy smile on his face as he strokes his thumb over Akaashi’s warm skin, taking him in while he is vulnerable. “I don’t wanna ruin it, either. Do you want to keep being friends ins—</p><p><em> “No.” </em>Akaashi shakes his head, face still in Bokuto’s hands. “No.”</p><p>”I want to be with you, Akaashi...let me?”</p><p>“I want to be with you, too.” He tells him, looking at his shoes and somehow feeling even more embarrassed than before. “I’m sorry for trying to run.”</p><p>Bokuto presses a kiss to Akaashi’s forehead while the other snakes his arms around his waist, feeling better being this close again, being this open.</p><p>Bokuto makes it kind of easy to give himself out like that.</p><p>“Then let’s take it slow, yeah?”</p><p>Akaashi nods and wonders how he was lucky enough to see this side of Bokuto more often than he thought he ever would. Bokuto was made of fires and moonlit ponds and livewires and Akaashi was amazed by every bit of light he would show to him every day.</p><p>The warm fuzzy feeling he gets makes him smile against his chest.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>There were two loud knocks on the door that popped their bubble, and Akaashi almost forgets that he was supposed to be on the way to get dinner with Kuroo. </p><p>“Akaashi! Did you forget about me?”</p><p>Akaashi covers his face with one hand as the blush sat on his cheeks bleeds further at how he forgot about him, and he hears his heart sigh with him as pulls away from Bokuto.</p><p>“I will bring you back something from where we go,” Akaashi tells him, trying to commit the gold color of Bokuto’s eyes to memory.</p><p>“You don’t have to.” </p><p>Bokuto’s gazing at him like he was auroras and sylvanshine, and Akaashi feels his heart dive into cold water once again.</p><p>“I know.” He leans up to kiss his cheek quickly, before hurrying to leave and meet Kuroo behind the door.</p><p>And when he is gone, Bokuto lets a breath out, pressing a hand to his heart and trying his best to slow his heart rate down.</p><p>Akaashi Keiji is going to be the death of him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. perfect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s noon, on a Saturday. </p><p>December 5th, to be exact, and Akaashi was so <em> not </em>excited to turn 20 today. Despite being young, he still felt like he was running out of time, and each year that passed was a bitter, stony reminder of that.</p><p>He wakes up first out of the two of them, a slow heartbeat in his right ear, a warm body beneath his own, the air chilly from the winter. There is a blanket of emotion that covers him whole when he recognizes Bokuto, but he can’t really put a name on the feeling, yet.</p><p>No, not yet.</p><p>Bokuto was still sleeping soundly beneath him, and Akaashi let his forehead rest in the crook of his neck, lightly tracing shapes onto the fabric of Bokuto’s blue shirt. He watches as the sunlight reaches towards them through the window, shadowing his fingers and glinting against the black paint on his nails, bringing forth the memory of them on the roof.</p><p>It was a good one. It makes Akaashi smile.</p><p>It seems like Bokuto made Akaashi smile a lot, even when he wasn’t talking to him or touching him or kissing him.</p><p>It’s only been less than a week since then, but Akaashi found happiness in him, a lot more worth. </p><p>He found worth in his smile and the way his eyes did that familiar light-up thing when he had an idea. He found worth in his delicate touches and harsh stares. He found worth in the way his flowers bloomed and his sun shined.</p><p>He was working on it, but he doesn’t think he’d ruin it anytime soon.</p><p>“Keiji, Keiji! Good morning!” </p><p>The given name basis thing was still new and made Akaashi’s chest cave. His name sounded pretty coming out of Bokuto’s mouth, especially in the morning, when his voice was still low and grainy with sleep.</p><p>“Hi, Kou—” Akaashi feels a tiny jolt of electricity beneath his skin as Bokuto softly kisses his forehead, and despite knowing he should be used to it, it still made him nervous and caught him off guard. “—tarou.”</p><p>“What did you dream about?” Bokuto asks, but it comes out as more of a declaration as his voice already fills to its entirety, reverberating off of the walls.</p><p>Akaashi tries not to smile as Bokuto’s grip over his shoulders tightens a little in emphasis. </p><p>“Hm...I don’t remember.” Akaashi says, because he really didn’t. “You?”</p><p>He used to keep a dream journal in his last year of high school, but he forgot to fill it out for a week and thought it was too late to go back into it after a year passed with no new dreams written down. He still had it in a box somewhere in his parents’ house (in which he hoped they never found, good <em> god). </em></p><p>“I dreamt about you. Is that weird?”</p><p>Akaashi’s stomach drops and he looks at his hand with wide eyes, his heart beating wildly, the only thing his ears can hear. </p><p>“I-it isn’t weird. Was it bad?” Akaashi asks, just to take the attention off of himself for a moment. </p><p>“Not at all.” Bokuto looks at the ceiling, and remembers the clouds and the water and the sand, his mind reeling at the hazy scene, his memory making it look like melted candle wax in his head. “We were at a beach and eating sandwiches. And there were a lot of lobsters. And flowers. But we were sitting on the sand! Flowers can’t grow in sand.”</p><p>“They should.” Akaashi closes his eyes and hopes that Bokuto would keep talking, just for him to stay at peace for a while longer.</p><p>“They <em> should!” </em>He says, and Akaashi smiles again. “And you know what else? At the–”</p><p>There are loud knocks on the door that cut Bokuto off promptly, and Akaashi feels him crane his neck to look at the door as if he was able to see who was behind it. Akaashi sighs, knowing he’d have to be the one to get up since Bokuto was beneath him, and he slides out of Bokuto’s arms, hearing it creak at the loss of weight.</p><p>He runs a hand through his messy hair and reaches for his glasses on his desk, slipping them onto his face. The sun is delicate as it runs a carpet of lemonade light underneath his feet. He feels the cold from the floor seep into his fuzzy socks.</p><p>He opens the door and is greeted by Kuroo and Kenma, who is holding a small strawberry cake, covered in plastic.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Akaashi! Happy, happy birthday, <em> woo!” </em>Kuroo does this dumb little dance with his hips and holds the cake out for Akaashi, who hides a smile behind his hand at Kuroo’s antics, trying not to laugh at him. </p><p>“You’re dumb.” Akaashi shakes his head and looks at the cake, before taking the gift bag Kenma held out to him, a small grin on his face, just to be polite. “Thank you, Kuroo. Thank you, Kenma.”</p><p>“Me and Kenma picked this present out,” Kuroo says, hands on his hips triumphantly. “I think you will put it to <em> very </em> good use.”</p><p>Akaashi squints at him, that statement either very wholesome or very <em> unwholesome</em>, before looking at Kenma, who shakes his head in confirmation to Akaashi’s suspicions. Akaashi trusted Kenma just that much more than Kuroo when it came to these things, so he was glad they got this gift together. </p><p>“Thanks, you guys.” Akaashi can’t help it as his smile warmly grows bigger, appreciating the thoughtfulness from him.</p><p>“Are you doing anything for your birthday?” Kuroo asks, poking Akaashi’s stomach and making the other cave in at the tickling feeling. “Now that you’re a <em> twenty year old </em> and all.”</p><p>“No.” Akaashi shakes his head. “I don’t wanna go out. Too lazy.”</p><p>“Go to a bar tonight! You can now drink legally!”  Kuroo suggests, and Akaashi hums.</p><p>“Hm. Maybe.”</p><p>“Go with your boyfriend!” Kuroo whispers harshly with a hand beside his mouth, as if trying to keep it a secret, and Akaashi ducks his head and looks at the floor in embarrassment. </p><p>His hands are full, so he couldn’t hide behind them this time.</p><p>And Bokuto was <em> not </em>his boyfriend, yet, but he didn’t want to clarify in fear he would give the wrong message. </p><p>Damn Kuroo.</p><p><em> “Alright!” </em> Akaashi says, his voice low as if it would stop Bokuto from hearing him. “Go away.”</p><p>“Fine,” Kuroo says, smiling as if he achieved some great feat upon seeing how easy it was to mess with Akaashi. “I will take you out to celebrate tomorrow. Don’t forget, princess.”</p><p>And Akaashi shuts the door just as Kuroo tells him goodbye, letting a breath out and trying to catch his thoughts from where they were floating around his head. He could feel the heat on his cheeks from that interaction, thinking he needed to work on how easy it was for people to make him <em> this </em>red.</p><p>“You didn’t tell me today was your birthday,” Bokuto says, his lips in a tiny pout as he sits up on his elbows, looking at Akaashi. “We have to go celebrate.”</p><p>And Akaashi really didn’t want to, but glancing at Bokuto made him think that <em> maybe </em>it would do him good to go out today.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>“Where?” Akaashi asks, setting the sponge cake and gift bag on his desk, taking the tissue paper out of it.</p><p>It was black, and Akaashi wonders where they sold this stuff. He never saw black tissue paper in the stores.</p><p>It was pretty.</p><p>“Do you have a certain place you’d like to go to?” Bokuto asks, rolling over to face the ceiling again as he tries to think of a place Akaashi would enjoy.</p><p>“Not necessarily.” Akaashi opens the box and reaches for the bottom of the bag, not looking at it in order to keep the surprise for as long as he could. “Maybe we should go to a bar, like Kuroo suggested.”</p><p>“Okay, we could go somewhere new.” Bokuto sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, holding onto the edge of it as he looks at Akaashi again, curious to see what Kuroo and Kenma had gotten for him.</p><p>He holds up a new polaroid camera, expensive-looking, from a brand he did not recognize. Akaashi lets a breath out, his mouth in an “o” shape as he carefully turns it around in his hands, looking over the little buttons and ridges and glass.</p><p>He gets an idea immediately. </p><p>“...I want the first photo on this to be the most beautiful thing I could find.” Akaashi stares into the lens, not really listening to the words that come out of his mouth as his eyes run over the design.</p><p>It was very nice.</p><p>“Then why don’t we go to Kakei-en?” Bokuto presses his finger to his bottom lip and stares out the window thoughtfully, and Akaashi practically sees the lightbulb flicker on above his head. “Or! Maybe there’s a place we could go with more flowers, or a butterfly garden instead. <em> Or! </em>We could go to an aquarium and—”</p><p>A camera click goes off, and Bokuto looks at Akaashi to see him bringing the camera down from his face, the lens pointed at him until it was facing the floor and Akaashi was looking over the picture he just took of him.</p><p>Akaashi always loved when Bokuto’s head went off, and he had that spectacular smile on his face. It was fleeting, only there when it really needed to be, and Akaashi wanted to capture it before it was hidden away again.</p><p>“I don’t think we need to go anywhere,” Akaashi says, holding the photo up as it slides out the polaroid. “I’ve got it.”</p><p>For the first time in what seemed like forever, Bokuto blushes and looks at the floor. Akaashi feels satisfaction in his chest as he was the one making Bokuto break over a tiny action like this, finding it more than cute.</p><p><em> “Keiji! </em>You’re making me blush.” Bokuto grumbles, shutting his eyes and facing the ceiling, and makes one of those faces that look like he was in between pain and about to sneeze.</p><p>Akaashi liked the pink color on his cheeks. He grins as he comes up with an idea that surpasses every good one he’s ever had, grabbing his bathroom bag thrown beside his backpack.</p><p>“Would you like to go ice skating today?” Akaashi asks, calm, and it was here when he realizes how satisfying it was when he was unfazed, while Bokuto had his hands pressed to his cheeks, hoping the cold would even them out.</p><p>“...I don’t know how.”</p><p>Imagine how even <em> more </em>satisfying it was to learn this fact.</p><p>“I’ll teach you.” Akaashi shuts his eyes and opens the front door for himself, looking back at Bokuto over his shoulder. “I won’t let you fall, Koutarou.”</p><p>“Okay!” Bokuto gives him a morning sun smile and it makes Akaashi’s butterflies shout at him, begging him to go touch him or kiss him or <em> something.  </em></p><p>Would that be weird?</p><p>No, that was weird.</p><p>Akaashi instead settles on giving him a grin, and shuts the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Turns out, ice skating with Bokuto was a lot more fun than what Akaashi gave the idea credit for.</p><p>There weren’t a lot of people, thankfully, and Akaashi thinks that maybe it was due to the fact that it was cold, and most people wouldn’t want to spend a Saturday with the threat of falling on ice that was even colder. </p><p>Which he understood, honestly. You have to be in the mood to skate, and Akaashi was almost never in the mood to skate, but Bokuto made him look forward to it, and miss it when it was over.</p><p>He especially liked the rink because they served really good hot chocolates and always played nice music that doesn’t make its way to the radio often. He liked the homey feeling that the steam from the hot drinks brought, and the way the colored lights above them seemed to glide with him as he made his way around the ice.</p><p>He could do without the frost lining his lungs with every round, but he guessed it was a good compromise for the warmth.</p><p>“Keiji! I’m doing good! Finally keeping up with you!”</p><p>Akaashi glances to his left to see Bokuto watching his feet as they hesitantly glide over the ice, slick and reflecting the purple lights above them like violet stained mirrors. He was clutching his hand, terrified to fall again, and despite pouring that same fear into Akaashi, he didn’t mind falling if it meant Bokuto wouldn’t feel as embarrassed to do it alone.</p><p>Although, it seemed like nothing embarrassed Bokuto, anyway. </p><p>“Ah! I’m gonna outskate you!” </p><p>Akaashi knows that statement holds more danger than it should have, and before he could advise against it, Bokuto is letting go of his hand and working his way past Akaashi’s pace, before gaining a little bit more speed.</p><p>Akaashi watches as Bokuto barely manages the curve of the rink before he’s messily making his way down the ice, his legs slightly bowed and he’s trying not to wave his arms so much because Akaashi told him it would make him fall. </p><p>He looks like a baby deer. </p><p>Bokuto bumps into the wall and clings onto it as his feet slip out from beneath him. Akaashi catches up, trying not to laugh at him, before holding out his hand for Bokuto to take again. His eyes are wild as his gloved fingers lace through Akaashi’s, spilling warmth into them that Akaashi doesn’t think he’d ever tire of with all the time they spent with one another.</p><p>“That might have not been the best idea.” Bokuto grumbles, and Akaashi lightly swings their hands in between them.</p><p>“I think you won that one.” He says, a smile tugging at his lips, and Bokuto huffs, his mouth in a tiny pout that made the color spill into them from his cheeks.</p><p>A lot like cherries.</p><p>“This calls for a rematch,” Bokuto says, wobbling a bit as someone passes by them, scared he would bump into him and fall. “I’ll take you on when I master this skill.”</p><p>“Like everything else?” Akaashi asks, and he doesn’t miss the slight fondness in his voice at the question. Bokuto’s efficiency in what seemed like everything didn’t annoy him anymore.</p><p>It was still a motivation, rather than a nuisance.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say <em> everything.” </em>Bokuto rolls his eyes almost comically, and presses a finger to Akaashi’s side, making the other boy squirm with a giggle and sway the two of them at the sudden movement. Bokuto smiles. “But most. I’ll just have to work as hard as you. Or, maybe less. It seems exhausting.”</p><p>Akaashi hums in response, running his free hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. He leads Bokuto around the rink a few more times, catching him before he completely ate it on the ice once within those few times.</p><p>His nose was stained with roses by the time they found a spot outside on the balcony, the sun beginning to set beside them. Pink buttercups bloomed alongside the orange and navy glow that streaked across the sky, like watercolor. What was left of the sun was slowly trickling from between the clouds’ fingers and the moon was beginning to show herself with a fanfare.</p><p>Akaashi was excited for night to fall.</p><p>He looks into his hot chocolate and watches the marshmallows bob as he lightly moves the cup, half-finished from sharing it with Bokuto. The steam fogs over the bottom of his frames and he moves the cup away from his face a little.</p><p>It was only when he looked up at Bokuto to find him staring at him, eyes lost until Akaashi caught them for what seemed like the nth time since they’ve been dating. It always made Akaashi’s heart flutter, and he felt like a stupid schoolboy back in high school whenever he looked at him like that.</p><p>“Sorry.” Bokuto looks at their shoes for a brief moment, flustered, before looking back at the horizon and focusing his mind in his gloves.</p><p>His thoughts go off like fireworks in front of him, and Bokuto watches as <em> kiss! </em> and <em> Akaashi! </em> and <em> I want a kiss? </em> and <em> is a kiss okay? </em>spark up in brilliant flares and vibrant colors against the sunset.</p><p>“What is it?” Akaashi asked, hoping Bokuto wasn't staring at any of the beauty marks not covered by his many layers on his shoulders.</p><p>Why was he feeling insecure now?</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Bokuto says, short, and Akaashi wonders if this is what <em> he </em> sounded like when he was trying his best to lie.</p><p>He could see it, now. Bokuto was also a bad liar.</p><p>“Koutarou~.” Akaashi tilts his head and lightly tugs on Bokuto’s jacket, the wind picking up and making goosebumps poke needles into his skin. He didn’t want to pry, but maybe saying something would help. “You can talk to me about anything, you know?”</p><p>Bokuto then faces Akaashi and swallows, as if he was gearing up to do something completely outrageous and Akaashi really hopes he’s not getting any crazy ideas—</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p><em> Oh</em>.</p><p>Akaashi lets his eyes fall to the floor, a flush powdering his cheeks as every thought he once had washed away with the winter’s tide from the question. He frowns a little, the embarrassment seeping up into his skin. </p><p>“You don’t have to ask—”</p><p>Bokuto kisses him promptly, and the smell of the hot chocolate twirls into his nose as he holds onto Bokuto’s jacket with his free hand. </p><p>Warm, familiar hands press against Akaashi’s cheek, the fabric of the gloves slightly ticklish and it makes his cold butterflies red with a pyre he only seemed to get from the press of his skin against Bokuto’s.</p><p>He kisses Akaashi tenderly, like how the sun rises for the day after a calm night of ivory lullabies, the flutter of butterfly wings tickling his stomach at his touch. </p><p>Akaashi was beginning to see that Bokuto’s hands were gentle with pretty much everything — a steady stroke across a canvas and his cheeks that still told regal and grand tales, yet was soft all the same.</p><p>Even in the winter, as he kissed him and let his vulnerability escape him under the darkness of the sky, Bokuto still <em> burned</em>.</p><p>It was nice being able to be so close to something that felt like it should have been far away. </p><p>He reminded Akaashi very much of how Earth spins, daybreaks and afterlights streaming from a heart that seemed too strong to really be contained within him.</p><p>And Akaashi never liked to call anyone his “world”, because he felt like he’d put too much responsibility on them, made them bear the burden of his happiness when they didn’t even give him permission to. </p><p>But, in a perfect one — where the sky still slept but the rain wasn’t too cold and the sun was warm even in the winter — he thinks Bokuto would be in it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. hot springs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi decided he did not like the taste of alcohol when it was being sold to him legally.</p><p>There was something about the threat of incarceration that made everything taste better. And now that he <em> could </em>do it…</p><p>Eh. He’d pass.</p><p>Bokuto also didn’t drink a lot tonight with him, either, so Akaashi thinks they were probably in the same boat when it came to this stuff. </p><p>They had enough alcohol in their systems to say things that the other was sure they would forget about by morning, quickly making their way to an onsen Bokuto found to escape the cold. The walk there was nice, even when their voices were loud and hushing thunderstorms, the streetlamps turning their heads as they passed beneath them.</p><p>Akaashi had never been on this side of town before, taking a bunch of backroads and passing by a few districts before they got here. Shops were still bright with yellow lights and the streets were lined with small bushels of flowers, so he didn’t feel like they were completely alone.</p><p>It was pretty.</p><p>The onsen was close to the water, and despite it being open until midnight, Akaashi still felt some sense of rebellion, like they were back in high school and sneaking into places without their parents knowing. And they were entire adults, but still.</p><p>The high was nice.</p><p>Akaashi is resting his head down on his folded arms beneath him, listening to the sounds of the nighttime and the trickle of the water from the spout, everything blurry without his glasses. He is more than okay, the alcohol wearing off with the steam of the hot spring.</p><p>His mind then wanders to the expo, the freedom short-lived as another worry reaches out to grab it.</p><p>He still had no idea what he was going to submit. </p><p>It needs to be good if he wants any chance of being picked<em>, especially </em>over Bokuto, and usually, when you have a big project like that, you start thinking of ideas months in advance.</p><p>He definitely wanted to do something with Bokuto, if he was up for it.</p><p>“The expo is coming up,” Akaashi says, opening his eyes and looking at the black water past the wooden ledge, the moon casting a milky stream that seemed to lead to the ends of the earth in front of them.</p><p>He imagines the two of them running on it, escaping to a place only they knew about, that only they were allowed in.</p><p>“The expo?” Bokuto asks, his voice doing that wavy thing when it rides each vowel and loops off at the end, and it wakes Akaashi up for a moment. “Ah. I forgot about that.”</p><p>“What will you paint?” Akaashi asks, turning his head to face Bokuto and watching him think into the water, the temperature making his cheeks pink as his wet hair stuck to his forehead, the moon dusting him in silver.</p><p>Akaashi thinks he was beautiful under the moonlight.</p><p>“I dunno…” Bokuto’s tone shifts completely and his entire being slumps. “I haven’t been motivated lately. I have an idea that I think will be really nice, but don’t really know exactly how to get there.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Akaashi says, but he doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure himself or Bokuto, really.</p><p>“I just want it to be good,” Bokuto tells him, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, water clinging to his lashes like dew on grass blades in the morning.</p><p>“What makes you think it won’t be?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto sighs through his nose, their eyes never meeting, and Akaashi could tell this was something other than just hope.</p><p>Bokuto shrugs. “I don’t wanna disappoint myself. I wanna do well for me, instead of anyone else. I know it’s kinda selfish, but…”</p><p>He shrugs again.</p><p>“No. It’s understandable.” Akaashi nods, staring at the marble beneath his folded arms. “There’s a point in life where you stop doing things for other people and start doing it for yourself. People will be proud of you once <em> you </em> start being proud of you.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Bokuto smiles, and glances at Akaashi before looking back into the water, opening his palm beneath the surface and watching the water ripple over his skin, the fake torch near the spout making him look like he was decorated in gold leaf. “I used to be insufferable for that. I have two big sisters, you know? They always did everything better than me, it was weird. I felt like I was competing with them all the time.”</p><p>“I didn’t know that.” Akaashi lifts his head slightly, curious.</p><p>Bokuto having two older sisters to push him was something Akaashi hadn’t thought about. Anyone having siblings wasn’t something Akaashi thought about, really, considering he didn’t have any himself.</p><p>It put things into a different perspective regarding Bokuto, even more so when he thinks of high school.</p><p>“And when I would do good, they always did something better!” Bokuto’s eyes widened as he brought up his hands for emphasis, the water slipping from his skin. “They were always so nice about it. But I felt like if I messed up, they would be disappointed. Being good at things was expected, so it was never really satisfying.”</p><p>Akaashi thinks this is interesting. </p><p>His entire life, he’d been good at everything with no effort, while Bokuto was never enough. And in high school, as the roles were switched, he couldn’t help but feel like they were good for each other, now. </p><p>They did complete each other in more ways than one. </p><p>Maybe the universe did mingle souls together, made them kindle the same flame, made their fates hold hands and go through life together after keeping them apart for so long.</p><p>Bokuto is quiet for a moment, his lips in a sort of pout as he keeps thinking, his eyebrows coming together. </p><p>“...I think that’s why I tried competing with you so much.” He says, and Akaashi listens, trying to understand him. “I never felt good enough with anything, so when we were in high school and I earned valedictorian over you, it kinda inflated my ego. Like, a lot.”</p><p>“Yeah, no kidding.” Akaashi smiles and gently pushes Bokuto’s shoulder, his skin warm as water dazzles over it in the light of the moon. </p><p>Bokuto sways with the movement and his stress shakes up a little bit.</p><p>“But it makes sense,” Akaashi says.</p><p>“I mean, now I don’t care about that stuff.” Bokuto shakes his head and plays with the water, tiny tsunamis in his palms. “It was so stupid.”</p><p>“Well, we were also only eighteen,” Akaashi replies, pushing himself back from where he was on the ledge and looking over Bokuto’s face, watching the water drip from his hair and skate over the bridge of his nose and the curve of his lips. He takes this opportunity to get their pressure off of his knees, sitting on his butt and bringing them up to his chest, staring at the spout across from them, a blurred ball of flames. “Two years is a lot to change. A lot of time to grow.”</p><p>“That is true.” Bokuto smiles, kind of getting embarrassed when he thinks about it. “Either way, you still make me want to do better. It’s even better to grow with you. So, thank you.”</p><p>“Really?” Akaashi asks, the statement surprising him in the thought that Bokuto never needed support like that, not like how Akaashi did.</p><p>It was strange thinking that he helped Bokuto in the same way.</p><p>“Yeah!” Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in emphasis, before he simpers. “Always. Why do you think I’m such a good artist, huh? You are my muse, Keiji.”</p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. You’re <em> welcome.” </em></p><p>And he wants to tell him that he was being too generous, too sweet. </p><p>He wants to tell him that he was making his heart inflate too much and he could feel it about to pop. He wants to tell him that he was making it hard to want to take things slow, because he was enjoying the fall way too much where he was.</p><p>He was enjoying falling in love with him, and despite them taking their time, despite them knowing each other for more than a year, it felt like things were still going too quickly.</p><p>He was stuck, but he also didn’t mind on the other end.</p><p>He would stay stuck within himself forever if it made him feel like <em> this</em>.</p><p>“The real question is…” Bokuto holds a finger in the air and Akaashi sees that the black paint was chipped, too. He wonders if he would repaint them when it was gone. “Did you have a good birthday, today?”</p><p>Akaashi leans his head on Bokuto’s shoulder and shuts his eyes again, basking in the golden glow from the torch, feeling the chilly wind on his face from where it slotted through the wooden ledge, goosebumps running their fingertips over his skin. </p><p>He did. He knew he would, considering he would be spending the day with Bokuto, but it was still nice to tell him.</p><p>“Yes. Thank you very much.” </p><p>He feels Bokuto turn his head and kiss his hair once, before he faces the moon.</p><p>They’re caught up in a comfortable silence for a moment, and Akaashi shuts his eyes once more, letting his head roam. The waves beside them play their songs, the trees keeping a rhythm for them as sea breeze tangles itself between their branches. </p><p>It reminds Akaashi of cherry blossom trees, and his heart beats in opportunity as he thinks of going to the festival with Bokuto in April.</p><p>Before, he was opposed to going when he asked, because he knew he’d be surrounded by couples and didn’t want to be part of that, yet, knowing they’d be the odd ones out. </p><p>Now, he couldn’t wait for spring.</p><p>“Hey, Pretty Boy.”</p><p>Akaashi tries to resist the urge to smile, his eyes still closed. He felt eternal tonight, like he had all the time in the world to sit beside Bokuto in a hot spring on one of the coldest days this town had ever seen. </p><p>Bokuto was timeless.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I like you a lot.”</p><p>Akaashi hopes Bokuto’s shoulder wasn’t burning as a blush makes its way to his face. He <em> knew </em>that, but it still felt like the first time when he said it out loud.</p><p>“I like you a lot, too.”</p><p>“Wanna go steady?”</p><p>Akaashi opens his eyes and stares at the gold torch, blinking at it as Bokuto’s voice rattles in his head. Time is staring at him, waiting for his answer.</p><p>Akaashi wasn’t exactly the best at decisions, especially if he knew it had uncertain outcomes. Commitment was one of those things that were followed by red flashing lights and police tape, maybe some sirens squished between every syllable when you listened to it. </p><p>There was still the threat of getting hurt tugging at his brain, but Akaashi has been coming up with ways to settle his mind recently, trying his best to stop living in his head and live in the real world. </p><p>He’d imagine a small ladybug that came to him when he really needed it, and she would sort his thoughts out for him when they were too jumbled to do it himself.</p><p>She was patient and colorful and her voice was calming. He often hears her telling him to live, just a little, and she would smile and flutter her wings as he made a final decision with her.</p><p>
  <em> How will you know if you don’t try? </em>
</p><p>“I’d love to.” He says, thinking the fall was worth it if the water was as warm as Bokuto was, if the water was just as inviting and loving and wonderful and infinite as Bokuto Koutarou <em> truly was. </em></p><p>“Actually?” Bokuto leans back from him and Akaashi thinks the shock was enough for both of them.</p><p>Seeing his face light up like that was also worth the nerves.</p><p>Akaashi nods, somehow even shyer under his gaze despite showcasing himself almost every day in some way. </p><p>He should be used to it by now.</p><p>He should <em> also </em> be used to kissing Bokuto to celebrate victories and compensate losses, the eagerness and longing in how his lips moved, but things rearranged themselves every time. His heart skipped to different cadences and sang different choruses, but he still loved the feeling all the same.</p><p>And beneath the chalky moon’s radiance that seemed to never grow old, Akaashi felt new, and ever so <em> timeless</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. you are more than lovely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about people is — Akaashi’s noticed — is that they are just like flowers.</p><p>He thinks that’s why he loved them so much.</p><p>They drew attention, their vibrant petals stretching colorful hands to the sky as golden sun bled through their veins, silently asking to be looked at. They sometimes needed extra maintenance, to be delicately cared for in order to bloom beautifully with time. They often made rooms prettier, sometimes they smelled nice, sometimes they had intentions to make others smile. They fell in showers, waiting for someone to come pick them up from the ground. </p><p>From all the time he spent in his neighborhood, where sakura trees lined a very specific road near the city, he would pick bouquets to give to his mothers, finding flowers with his magenta stained fingers for them.</p><p>Akaashi thinks that cherry blossoms were most beautiful when accompanied by other, quieter flowers. Baby’s breath, or maybe chrysanthemums, complimented the deep fuschias, brought out the loud petals, and filled their empty spaces. </p><p>Bokuto was too not far off from a cherry blossom.</p><p>He thinks that’s why he loved <em> him </em> so much.</p><p>And as they spent the day in the butterfly gardens — when he set his own butterflies free and kept them close, when red butterflies sat in Bokuto’s hair and landed on his nose, when their wings hummed and the flowers spoke back to him — he thinks he was perfect.</p><p>Perfect for looking at, perfect for taking care of, perfect in the way he brought love into everything he touched.</p><p>He was perfect for growing with, and Akaashi thinks that was the most beautiful thing out of all.</p><p>It’s well into the afternoon, and they were in a comfortable silence on Bokuto’s bed, their feet resting on the windowsill beside it.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Bokuto asks him suddenly, taking him out of his head.</p><p>Akaashi let him hide his face in his neck and lie on him while the sun warmed their chilled skin like arctic sun, January cold and right on their tails. </p><p>He’d been tracing random shapes on Bokuto’s shoulder as he held him, his bed soft beneath them. Akaashi found touching him like this was okay, and he was starting to see why people loved cuddling so much.</p><p>The warm fuzzy feeling was addicting and Bokuto smelled like cherries.</p><p>“People.”</p><p>“People?” Bokuto’s voice sounded like rollercoasters in the summer as it fell and looped and swirled around the syllables. “What does that mean?”</p><p>Akaashi realizes here that it probably sounded bad to just say he was thinking about other people while he was lying in bed with him. He smiles and glances down at him, seeing flecks of gold that screamed with curiosity, like gold tokens and treasure troves at the bottom of the sea.</p><p>“I mean like...how people <em> are,” </em>Akaashi says, watching the clouds stare back at him from outside of the window, before letting his eyes fall on his hands as he traces a line from Bokuto’s shoulder to his tricep. The muscle was defined beneath his clothing, but Akaashi tried very hard to ignore that bold fact. “I think...we are a lot like flowers.”</p><p>“That makes sense,” Bokuto replies, and Akaashi’s stomach twists as he tightens his grip on where it was thrown over Akaashi’s lower waist, pressing his cheek into his chest unconsciously as he thinks about what he said. </p><p>“It’s true. Think about it.”</p><p>“People are colorful?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi nods.</p><p>“People are colorful.”</p><p>Bokuto smiles and lets the sun render him in her rays, the glass breaking the press of light into a gentle hum of heat rather than the blaze, had he been outside. Paired with the cold air, Akaashi’s voice, and his heartbeat beneath his ear, Bokuto was incredibly tempted to fall asleep here.</p><p>But...flowers. </p><p>People are colorful…</p><p>“What kind of flowers do you see?” He asks, curious.</p><p>Carnations immediately come to mind when he thinks of Kuroo, sitting in a black glass vase with white trim. Konoha bloomed white lilies more often than not, especially at night. Kenma was bluebells against a sky that was even bluer in the spring.</p><p>Akaashi looks down at Bokuto, trying to think.</p><p>He didn’t really belong in a garden. There was no vase capable of holding him, to keep his petals bright and his leaves open. He complemented, but Akaashi doesn’t think he belonged anywhere, really.</p><p>He was a lot more than flowers.</p><p>Akaashi saw blooms in him, but he also saw the ripples of currents and the soak of the tide into taupe shores in the afternoon. He was asteroids and waterfalls and sunrises. </p><p>Akaashi saw all of the earth’s most wonderful phenomena in him, all wrapped up in a boy who wore curiosity on his shoulders and smiled like magic.</p><p>Bokuto leans up and looks at Akaashi, his weight on his elbow.</p><p>“Keiji? Did you fall asleep on me?”</p><p>His name painted with Bokuto’s voice makes his butterflies flutter, and Akaashi almost gets worried he would gag on one from how close they were to his throat.</p><p>“I didn’t. I was just...thinking.” He tells him, before finding himself reaching a hand out to brush Bokuto’s hair from his forehead, watching the two-tone melt through his fingers as it falls back into his face. “I see a lot of flowers in you.”</p><p>Bokuto glances at Akaashi’s mouth, just to break eye contact because Akaashi was so honest it made his chest cave, and there is a slight scarlet smudged into his cheeks.</p><p>“Like…! Gardens?”</p><p>Akaashi nods, and he absentmindedly lets himself take Bokuto in, letting his fingers trace over the curves in Bokuto’s cheeks and the puff of his bottom lip. It was sometimes very hard to believe Bokuto was real and not part of a dream, and Akaashi thinks that thought was catching up to his body and he needed to touch him to prove it.</p><p>Was it working?</p><p>“You remind me of sakuras.” Bokuto says, his eyes flicking over Akaashi’s face, the sunlight kissing his skin wonderfully, soaking in gold while his eyes light up in cerulean. “Especially when they fall from trees.”</p><p>“Really?” Akaashi gives a tiny grin. “How so?”</p><p>“The colors remind me of home,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi knows he’s not thinking so much about what he’s saying, the weight of his words lost on him. “They would fall a lot in the spring, and me and Yukie would go and put them in each others’ hair. I miss it.”</p><p>Akaashi smooths his thumb over the soft cleft in Bokuto’s chin and nods. He feels his heart open up again, and despite never planning on having these conversations with Bokuto, he couldn’t help but let it slip.</p><p>“You know, I always thought I’d miss my parents a lot,” Akaashi speaks, eyes meeting Bokuto’s for a moment before slipping back down to his lips. “I thought it would get really bad the longer I stayed away from them.”</p><p>Bokuto leans into Akaashi’s touch as he lets his hand step on his cheek, the pad of his thumb sparking fireworks beneath Bokuto’s skin as he strokes right beneath his eye. “What helped you cope?”</p><p>“You,” Akaashi says. “You remind me of home, too. So, I don’t think it’s that bad.”</p><p>Bokuto’s eyebrows come together, and Akaashi watches as he searches his face for something. He doesn’t know exactly what. </p><p>His thoughts noticeably pause for a moment, and Akaashi thinks he’s going to say something to him.</p><p>Instead, he gently reaches out to push his glasses up over his forehead and let the frames settle on his hair, before kissing him in the safety of the sun without the threat of breaking Akaashi’s glasses over him.</p><p>Akaashi’s butterflies reach his chest and his heart soars, a sanguine, trusting drag in Bokuto’s lips, feelings dripping from his tongue and high voltages sparking beneath the skin of his fingertips.</p><p>It almost felt as if Bokuto was chasing the same thing Akaashi was, but he didn’t want to jump to that conclusion, considering they just started to move past being friends and into something else.</p><p>But, still.</p><p>The idea makes him glow with an incandescence that he was sure Bokuto could feel beneath his hands. He was always so afraid to trust himself, never really feeling safe unless he was with other people to give him that safety.</p><p>Maybe it was time to sink beneath the water, just this once.</p><p>The thought of Bokuto Koutarou being in love with <em> him… </em></p><p>Hm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. pink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Few, hesitant kisses eventually fell into many.</p><p>They kissed in their dorm, and on the roof, and behind buildings at night when they were sloppy from alcohol, but composed themselves long enough to make each other feel like they were the ones that sat on the world’s shoulders for a change.</p><p>They kissed in the stairwell and under blankets, before classes and after night fell.</p><p>Akaashi liked kissing Bokuto. But that was a given.</p><p>At first, it felt unreal, like it was something the two of them did only only because they wanted to have fun. Like when you play Spin the Bottle at a party.</p><p>But with that game, you only kiss in that one setting, and you do it for other people.</p><p>They didn’t kiss each other for other people, except for one another, and Akaashi knew that.</p><p>On top of that, you never ask the person you kiss if they’d like to go steady with you. That was against the rules.</p><p>And for a while, Akaashi thought Bokuto in himself was against the rules, but there was something undoubtedly fun in breaking them, and Akaashi found himself veering off course a lot during their time together.</p><p>During their time <em> dating. </em></p><p>That word tastes like cherries and felt like sunsets whenever he said it aloud. </p><p>They were dating.</p><p>And Bokuto had been right about there being a difference; Akaashi could feel it. Their little dates as friends before often felt like they were going through the motions, hanging out under a sky that expected them to do it just <em> because </em> they were friends.</p><p>But now that they were <em> dating </em>, it felt better, different in the best way possible. </p><p>Touches sparked currents and their voices spilled colors and film reels across the city, leaving traces of themselves everywhere they went. The days felt longer and the nights felt darker, infinite and precious.</p><p>Bokuto was just that — infinite and precious — a person in which Akaashi found it effortless to love.</p><p>He was lucky Bokuto was so open with his thoughts.</p><p>There was no confusion or assumptions. Bokuto really liked Akaashi, and he really liked kissing him every chance he got, too.</p><p>Not that he minded, either. It was good to feel loved.</p><p>He was just so <em> lucky</em>.</p><p>It was a Friday afternoon today, and the sky sullen and smudged with greys, the rain hitting the glass window softly.</p><p>Bokuto was in one of his moods, something that Akaashi should have been used to, but they always changed, like seasons.</p><p>This one was particularly bad, and Akaashi could not coax him to leave the dorms. Not until he got <em> an idea that would get extra gold stars! </em>But he came up short every time he tried, so you could imagine the loss he felt. </p><p>Akaashi had agreed to help him in whatever way possible, his most exhilarating idea being to paint the entire expanse of his back at midnight the other day.</p><p>Akaashi had always been really self-conscious about the beauty marks on his skin, but Bokuto would poke them in between their conversations, curious and awed, so he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.</p><p>Bokuto, on the other hand, thought they were beautiful, and fit someone like Akaashi to have on his skin.</p><p>Today, he brought home plastic bags filled with different sized items from the drugstore, but it wasn’t Don Quijote because he would have gotten one of the reusable ones with the cartoon face on it. </p><p>There is an aroma of seafood and familiar spices, and Akaashi realizes that one of the white bags Bokuto’s holding has food in it.</p><p>“Where’d you go?” Akaashi asks once he kicks the door closed with the back of his foot, swiveling on his butt towards him, glasses perched on his nose as Bokuto takes off his slippers, fuzzy socks sliding across the carpet as he makes his way to his own desk chair.</p><p>Akaashi’s brain was filled with the need for food and about sixteen different formulas for the math study guide he’d been working on since he got home. </p><p>He thinks he deserved a break in the form of Bokuto and whatever he brought in the bags.</p><p>What good timing he had.</p><p>“I’ve finally got an idea of how I could get out of my block.” Bokuto sets one bag on his bed and slides himself over to Akaashi with the food, and Akaashi watches what looks like a bottle of primer rolled out onto his bedsheets. “But I need your permission.”</p><p>Bokuto reaches into the other bag and firstly pulls out a little yellow flower, similar to a daffodil. “I found this on the way home!”</p><p>There is no way Akaashi can’t smile at that.</p><p>He takes the flower from Bokuto, the stem warm from where it was sitting on the plastic cover of the soup, before doing what he did with every other flower Bokuto picked for him on the way home,  sticking it above his ear.</p><p>“Permission with what?” Akaashi asks, taking the takeout bowl of what looked like oden from him as Bokuto hands him a plastic spoon. “Thank you.”</p><p>“It is makeup.”</p><p>Akaashi raises his eyebrows at that and sets the bowl of soup on his table, picturing himself in the full faces of makeup he used to see on the girls at his school, or the people on social media. </p><p>He’s never worn it before in his life, but the idea was still sort of exciting in a way. </p><p>“Okay. You wanna do it after?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto blinks at him, holding his soup in his lap.</p><p>“Just like that?”</p><p>Akaashi shrugs with a nod, and Bokuto smiles wide.</p><p>“I am <em> so </em> gonna marry you.”</p><p>Akaashi swivels around in his chair, acting like he was going to put the soup on his desk rather than hiding his face from him, his face on fire. </p><p>Bokuto was insane.</p><p>“Y-you’re dumb.” He says, shaking his head once, his hand instinctively coming up to hide the color that took to his cheeks.</p><p>“What’s your ring size?”</p><p>“I am not telling.”</p><p>“Nineteen?”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyes blow wide, and he keeps his mouth shut because Bokuto was very spot on and he wonders how much effort it takes to observe something like that, and be correct on top of it.</p><p>He gives Bokuto a look, and the other gives him a smile that starts in his eyes, and it looks like it's going to take up the rest of his face, the stars stopping to stare.</p><p>He is beaming and Akaashi falls in love.</p><p>“Thank you for doing this, Keiji!”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t know if he finished his soup quickly because of the cold, or if he was eager to see how Bokuto would go about this. </p><p>His stomach is full and his skin is warm and he’s watching Bokuto pull a face wipe from the package it came in above him, his supplies strewn beside Akaashi. There are small butterfly clips holding Akaashi’s hair out of his face and his glasses are on his desk, so he was next to blind, but he thinks it was worth the constant disorientation if it would help Bokuto.</p><p>Bokuto sat on his hips, and Akaashi wonders how he’s able to look breathtaking from every angle.</p><p>“Why makeup?” Akaashi asks once he shuts his eyes and lets Bokuto do his thing — <em> whatever </em>that may be — the coldness of the wipe shocking his skin, making him that much more present in this reality.</p><p>“I figured that a different medium might help…” He says thoughtfully, his voice like a gradient as he smoothes the wipe over Akaashi’s skin.</p><p>It smells like lavender.</p><p>“Then, I hope I help.” </p><p>Bokuto smiles, though Akaashi can’t see it, and he rummages through the many bottles beside them, trying to figure things out. Bokuto was <em> very </em> sure that he went overboard, and he called Yukie for help but she couldn’t really do anything, considering she wasn’t with him. The connection was too poor to video chat with her, too, so he was kind of lost at the store.</p><p>But that was okay. </p><p>Maybe he would use the extra for himself or something, just in case he needed motivation again.</p><p>“You are, baby.” Bokuto holds up a clear little bottle up to the light as if it would help him figure out what this was for and point it out. “Thank you.”</p><p>Akaashi tries to ignore the pet name and instead listens to Bokuto talk to himself, murmurs of <em> is this primer? </em> and <em> do I use this first, or this? </em>leaving his mouth. </p><p>Akaashi tries not to smile at that.</p><p>“Hm...Yukippe told me that I should use primer, but...oh. I think it’s this. Or, maybe...this.” Bokuto reaches over beside Akaashi’s head and holds up a smaller tube, eyebrows coming together, confused.</p><p>Akaashi flushes again once he realizes Bokuto probably asked Yukie how to do this so that he wouldn’t mess it up.</p><p>He opens one eye and sees Bokuto pouting in thought, before just shrugging and pumping it onto his fingertips until the product comes out.</p><p>He smears it over Akaashi’s face and it feels sticky. </p><p>Akaashi was not liking makeup at all, so far.</p><p>“How are you doing on your art pieces?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto shakes his head as he gently stipples a different cream on Akaashi’s forehead with a blending sponge, his movements careful and kind of lost.</p><p>“I scrapped the last two. There was something off about them. I dunno, I just…” Bokuto shakes his head again, blinking into Akaashi’s forehead. “I didn’t like them.”</p><p>“That’s okay.” Akaashi smiles, his faith in Bokuto obvious to the other boy. “I know you’ll come up with something else that you’ll like. You always do.”</p><p>“I think so, too” Bokuto smiles and drags the sponge over the bridge of Akaashi’s nose. “What about you, Keiji?“</p><p>Akaashi nods only slightly, not wanting to mess up any progress Bokuto was making, and thinks back to his own photos. He was almost done with them. He just needed to execute one more idea, and it would be finished.</p><p>It would take a lot of work, though.</p><p>“It’s going well. It’s almost complete.” He says. “I appreciate you being my model all the time, Koutarou.”</p><p>“I would do anything for you.” He says, absentmindedly, using a big brush to dust powder over Akaashi’s skin. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I should be thanking you, my muse.” Bokuto unwraps a small eyeshadow palette above Akaashi and tosses the plastic onto the floor, before smashing his finger into what looked like a starchy violet in the corner. “You make me want to do better.”</p><p>Akaashi wants to bring up his hands to cover his face as a soft blush heats his skin at how genuine Bokuto’s voice was, but he forces himself to keep his arms still, so as to not ruin the makeup.</p><p>Bokuto hums with a smile, before he’s spreading powders onto Akaashi’s eyelids with his pointer finger. Akaashi feels him tap the pigments toward his temples (which he was pretty sure was too far off, but he didn’t question it). There is more rubbing and dusting and Akaashi finds the shaking in Bokuto’s hands endearing, trying his best to be careful.</p><p>“You know what you’re doing?” Akaashi asks, curious.</p><p>He relies on the movement of his bed to know that Bokuto nodded. There are snaps and clicks that make little fireworks go off behind Akaashi’s eyelids at the sound, assuming he was closing things and opening them again. </p><p>“A little. Yukippe used to do her makeup in high school...” Bokuto says, his voice far out as if riptides had caught it, carrying it to the mouth of the sea. “I would watch her sometimes. I like <em> lip gloss!” </em></p><p>“Lip gloss?”</p><p>“Yeah! That sparkly stuff she puts on her mouth.” Bokuto is painting steady strokes by Akaashi’s eyes, and it was wet and cold and kind of stung the skin around them, not used to the chemicals in it. “It makes her lips look nice.”</p><p>Akaashi hums and Bokuto’s hand is on his cheek, gently pushing to move his face to the right. </p><p>Akaashi keeps his eyes shut and lets his head wander, and he’s gathering supernovas in his pockets and skating over stellar streams when Bokuto tells him to open his eyes again, combing mascara through his lashes.</p><p>This was a lot. He has a lot of respect for the people that do this every day.</p><p>Bokuto hums once again, his thoughts mixing and scattered and complete, before asking Akaashi to close his eyes again, looking over the work he did on his skin.</p><p>And there are fingers on his jaw, lightly squishing Akaashi’s face and making his lips pucker, spreading something on them.</p><p>Lip gloss.</p><p>Akaashi opens his eyes, watching Bokuto’s golden eyes simmer in concentration, beaming as they watch his lips. His fingers are not shaking anymore, and his breath was soft, trying not to smear it anywhere.</p><p>Akaashi decided now that he hated the feeling of lip gloss, too, but if it made Bokuto look at him like that when he was done, it wasn’t that bad.</p><p>He didn't mind it so much in this instance.</p><p>Bokuto's eyes gleam and make a zigzag pattern over Akaashi’s face, admiring and there was a fond tinge in his voice that made Akaashi get embarrassed, despite it being just the two of them. </p><p><em> “Wow</em>. My Pretty Boy.” </p><p>“You’re making me blush,” Akaashi says instead of trying to hide his face with his hand, not wanting to ruin whatever Bokuto painted.</p><p>He lightly swipes the pad of his thumb over Akaashi’s chin, a tiny grin on his face. </p><p>“I know what I’m gonna do for the last painting.”</p><p>“It’s a secret?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto nods once, his gaze lost, searching.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>And Akaashi never looked in the mirror while Bokuto was pulling out makeup wipes from a new package, though he had a chance to. </p><p>There was something about the secrecy of it all that made him not want to mess up Bokuto’s train of thought. He let him paint with no questions asked, and he let him wipe it away just like that. He knew it was beautiful in its own right, whether Bokuto thought it was or not.</p><p>He didn’t need to see it.</p><p>Bokuto, on the other hand, thinks pink was his favorite color to see over Akaashi’s eyes, just as much as it was on his cheeks and his nose and the tips of his ears.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. february</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When February rolled around, it brought a single hailstorm, midterms, and results that caused sighs of relief and swollen pride.</p><p>Rightfully so.</p><p>The month reminded Akaashi of the color pink, but he thinks it’s because he’s seen so much of it since the start of the month. It was planted between bushes and dusted onto cheeks that tried to hide beneath scarves to block out the cold. It was washed over knuckles and painted onto lips that kissed his forehead and temples and mouth.</p><p>Akaashi really liked February.</p><p>He got the letter in the mail today, while Bokuto received a call.</p><p>His hands had been numb, but he didn’t know if it was from the cold, or the anticipation. </p><p>And upon reading over the letter, eyes running through the italicized font over and over and <em> over </em>again, he thinks photography really was the most forgiving medium over anything else.</p><p>More often than not, it picked him up when he fell off, a golden goblet nearly blinding in the light of the sun, waiting to be filled with ideas, inspiration spilling over the cusps. Photography always came back for him when he steered off course, helped him get over every crash and collision, trusting him to keep himself going, even when his tires were flat and his engines were sputtering.</p><p>Photography never left him behind, never seemed to get disappointed in him, even when he was stuck.</p><p>This letter was proof of that, branding him the top pick in the Fine Art division.</p><p>Akaashi is <em> elated, </em>Bokuto was even happier for him.</p><p>He is greeted at the door with butterfly kisses speckling his face, and his giggles bounce around the room along with his pride and expectations and love.</p><p>“I am so proud of you, baby!” Bokuto tells him, hugging him tight, as if he was the only one out of the two of them who would have their artwork displayed for hundreds, as if he was the only one out of the two of them that could let other people in, let them see their fairy tales that made sense to them. “I’ll make sure to come watch you right after.”</p><p>“Right after what?” Akaashi asks, pulling back from Bokuto and looking over him.</p><p>“Don’t we have to give speeches for our submissions?”</p><p>And Akaashi’s pride folded itself back around and it was rippling over his shoulders and threading through Bokuto’s arms, snaking around his waist like ivy over marble pedestals.</p><p>“You got in, too?” Akaashi’s grin grows wider when Bokuto nods, his eyes shut with his own.</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“I am proud of you, too, my love.” Akaashi presses his nose to Bokuto’s, a smile bleeding through his features as his butterflies shake their ever-growing wings, hand on Bokuto’s jaw to keep himself steady. “I knew you would do it.”</p><p>“I say we go out to celebrate,” Bokuto says softly, ducking his head and gently chasing Akaashi’s lips, his heart racing.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah.” Akaashi kisses him, and then one more time, his feelings fogging up his head, his sense of direction getting lost on him for a moment. “Let’s go now?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Bokuto pulls away and practically runs to get his wallet from his backpack, and while he does, Akaashi cannot help but think.</p><p>Though it was a small feat, Akaashi was able to break out of the handcuffs that the memories of high school had on him, cold steel bruising his wrists for the longest time. He would always remember how inferior he was, how disappointing he was, how much of a failure he was.</p><p>Normally, Akaashi was entirely too judgemental of himself. He was his worst critic and his meanest bully, always knowing that he would be the cause of his ruin eventually, that it was just a matter of time.</p><p>But Bokuto put that clock on hold.</p><p>It was kind of hard to believe that Bokuto Koutarou, the same one who made him miserable, who made his self-esteem plummet in high school without even realizing it, was the same one forcing him to find worth in himself, making it hard to not feel like he was the best when it came to certain things. </p><p>He was the same one making Akaashi fall in love with his own talents and strengths and weaknesses and downfalls, in the same way he was falling in love with Bokuto’s.</p><p>He made him dream of gold, made him dream of <em>first place</em>, when all he’s known his entire life was second.</p><p>He doesn’t think he could ever communicate to Bokuto enough how much he meant to him.</p><p>Akaashi would start thinking of how to do so from now.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. the moon is beautiful, isn't it?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The expo started a while ago.</p><p>To say Akaashi and Bokuto were terrified was an understatement and a half.</p><p>Akaashi had lost his appetite for the day, but still went out to get them dinner before the exhibit started to make sure they weren’t running on empty for the night.</p><p>He was already extremely nervous, but then he found Bokuto hiding under his desk with this worried look on his face and that made him even <em> more </em>nervous for tonight.</p><p>And now, as Akaashi was waiting for people to come to his station, he swore this was what dying was like.</p><p>His stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out for the nth time today, his cheeks stuck in a constant temperature of what felt like past boiling, and his heart was beating so hard it felt like it would cancel itself and stop altogether. </p><p>There was a huge crowd of people gathering in front of his paintings and he <em> knew </em> he had to talk soon but good <em> god, </em>if it didn’t make him want to throw up.</p><p>His nerves were broken piano chords as they frayed and twisted and made the ants beneath his skin angry.</p><p>He hasn’t seen Bokuto since they arrived together, either. They’d both spent the past week making preparations for their pieces, writing their parts and practicing how they would present it.</p><p>Seeing him would make him feel better, but he understood Bokuto had his own things to do for this, so he couldn’t miss him too much.</p><p>Even now, when the expo was <em> today, </em>Akaashi still had no idea what Bokuto’s paintings looked like, or what he would talk about in his speech. He missed his exhibition already, considering they were back to back, since the Visual Arts department came before Fine Arts, but he made it a point to go see it as soon as his was over.</p><p>Time was going by too quickly, slowing to snail’s crawl right before he had to speak.</p><p>The lights above him dim as a signal to get ready, and he is letting himself walk over to his photos, a collection of flowers sitting beside him on display. He swallows, feeling the tension and anxiety and everything else that brought him stress rise in his stomach and fill his entire being.</p><p>Holy <em> shit. </em></p><p>Akaashi avoids eye contact with everyone he sees around him, hoping he didn’t see anyone he knew. The nerves sit heavy in his stomach like a hot coal, spreading the heat of anxiety through his bloodstream.</p><p>His temples throb and there are hot wires twisted up in his throat, knowing there was a critic somewhere amongst these people and he thinks he would pass out if he were to spot them.</p><p>The murmurs of voices cease, and Akaashi feels like it’s too silent in the room, despite the many people walking behind him and looking at other exhibits.</p><p>“Hi, everyone…” Akaashi looks at the floor, before glancing up to the photos beside him, a tiny spotlight putting them in clear view above him. “I’m Akaashi Keiji. I took these photos...with the theme of self-realization.”</p><p>The area was so quiet, the only thing he was able to hear was the heavy thumps of his heart in his ears, like timpanis. </p><p>It made him extremely uncomfortable.</p><p>“I was, um...fortunate enough to be able to photograph a person who I think reflects it very well back to me.” Akaashi glances at the photo of Bokuto with golden dandelions in his hair, the stark yellow a delicate contrast to the two tones in it. “He has been my inspiration for the past few months. I can’t thank him enough for doing this for me.”</p><p>Akaashi blinks and almost loses his train of thought, feeling his psyche literally trying to cling on to the last bits of concentration before they leave his head. With the combination of trying to remember his explanations and the threat of these strangers thinking his piece was dumb and meaningless, like it didn’t belong here, he couldn’t help but lose it.</p><p>This was <em> difficult. </em></p><p>He pictures Kuroo in his head, poking his stomach like he always does and telling him not to worry so much, that he would buy him dinner afterward. </p><p>He would probably tell him to imagine them as potatoes.</p><p>“Um...the process for this submission kind of started earlier than I anticipated. Probably before starting college.” Akaashi fiddles with his fingers for a moment, before looking at the photo of Bokuto with purple petals decorating his face this time, whole flowers between his lips. “I was very resistant to change coming out of it, very stuck in my ways from when I was growing up. I...didn’t really look into myself until I was preparing these photos. I think self-realization falls along those lines. It makes you change, whether you want to or not.”</p><p>The crowd is quiet, and Akaashi swallows as he thinks of Bokuto, hoping he was in the crowd and listening to him, the heat in his throat cooling up a little, steam pushing from his ears. </p><p>This time, his concepts did not lose meaning once he said them out loud.</p><p>If anything, they were even more lovely to think about. </p><p>He has come to terms with the fact that the flowers in his mothers’ garden weren’t just there to look pretty. He missed the words they chanted, didn’t think twice about the way their hands reached, and was careless about how they listened to him.</p><p>They spoke of starting over and giving yourself second chances. </p><p>They hummed with mercy and gleamed with self-worth. </p><p>Akaashi just hadn’t let them fully bloom yet, always picking empty shells to hold before they got a chance to fill, a self-love he hadn’t been willing to look for until recently.</p><p>And he found that self-love, Bokuto holding his hand the entire way to it.</p><p>He explains to the crowd a more condensed version of it, and in his battle between himself and the expectations of these strangers, Bokuto had finally caught up to him, standing on his tippy toes to see Akaashi, to listen to him talk without glancing at the photos.</p><p>“To finish, I found a quote that I think fits really well.” Akaashi swallows, and a few people that were not part of this crowd stopped to listen to him, the shadow of someone in his peripherals running to catch up with the back of it. </p><p>“It was about how flowers...they don't think of competing with the one beside it. They just bloom. They are beautiful, no matter where they are. And...with this, my self-realization is the same. I spent years competing with someone beside me, without seeing that he was blooming without that thought. I found myself eventually doing the same, the more time I spent with him.”</p><p>Akaashi would never be caught dead being this open about something so personal. </p><p>But he’s got to finish. He only had a few seconds left in his time frame, and he was thinking off the top of his head, the conclusion of the speech he memorized completely abandoned.</p><p>“We’re constantly growing with each other. Different paces and different lengths towards the sun, if that makes sense. But...what matters is that we bring out the best in one another. We’re beautiful apart, and beautiful together. In that, I see that I’ve been blooming on my own the entire time, but having someone beside me doing the same helped me see it. So, um...yeah.” Akaashi nods, avoiding eye contact with even more fervor now that his face was hot in humiliation. “That’s what self-realization means to me.”</p><p>He swallows and people are smiling at him and marveling at the photos with a look that Akaashi didn’t <em> want </em>to say was awe, but…</p><p>The shoe definitely fits.</p><p>He was more confident in his work now that he didn’t have to explain it further. </p><p>These photographs were fragments of his heart he put out, and talking about them made him uncomfortable, but it was worth it, in the end, to know that all of these people understood him and what he was trying to say.</p><p>He tries his best to answer the questions being thrown his way, trying to keep his head level and not say something dumb. The crowd was diminishing, and Akaashi was relishing in the faux stardom as they trickled away from him in time, the remnants of his photos being appreciated dissolving from his chest.</p><p>He was very grateful to them for listening. </p><p>“I have a question, photography man.” Akaashi blinks at Kuroo, who had his hands on his hips and a slanted grin on his face, his heart at ease when he sees his face. Kenma is looking at his photos, and Akaashi suddenly really hopes he liked them. He kind of had something to prove, anyway. “How long do you think it’ll take until he stops staring at himself?”</p><p>Akaashi feels his heart thrum against his chest as Kuroo gestures behind his shoulder, and he sees Bokuto a ways away, his jacket slipping off his shoulders as his golden eyes flare, his lips parted as he looks at them.</p><p>He was looking at the centerpiece photo.</p><p>Akaashi especially loved that one, Bokuto lying in a milk bath, where there were red and blue and yellow flowers floating around his face, black specks of stamens perched on glossy skin from the water.</p><p>That was a bitch and a half to drain, considering they did it in the dorm baths at 2am, but Akaashi thought the turnout was beautiful and he liked the slight adrenaline rush of potentially clogging the drains with flowers.</p><p>Bokuto was rubbing off on him.</p><p>“This is the first time he’s seen it.” Akaashi shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet, rocking back and forth a little on his heels, and it feels like Bokuto was the one judging him, rather than the actual critics here.</p><p>“Really?” Kuroo asks, and he looks at Akaashi’s photos again, although he’d been here for a while. “He’s gonna fall in love with you over these.”</p><p>“Stop that!” Akaashi whispers harshly, as if Bokuto was right behind him, listening for any chance of Akaashi slipping.</p><p>“I am so proud of you, Akaashi!” Kuroo says, practically shouting, and a few people behind him give him weird looks and Akaashi wants to hide. “My best friend in the entire world! His photos are on display at a museum!”</p><p>“It’s just an exhibition,” Akaashi says, though he was just as proud of himself for that fact, and Kuroo reaches out to ruffle his black hair in between his fingers. </p><p>“One out of many,” Kuroo's voice is fond and Akaashi remembers why he loved him so much. “I’m always rooting for you, princess!”</p><p>Akaashi makes a face like he was about to throw up, and Kuroo laughs at his sour face. “Yeah, whatever. Thank you two very much for coming. I appreciate it.”</p><p>And Kuroo was going to tell him to thank Kenma, considering he’d forgotten it was today and Kenma practically dragged him out of bed <em> for Akaashi’s exhibit tonight!  </em></p><p>But he kept that part out.</p><p>Bokuto is now standing behind the two of them, trying not to seem too eager to get to Akaashi once he was done looking over the photos. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he’s looking at literally anything else other than Akaashi, suddenly getting nervous in front of him.</p><p>Kenma takes a swift look at Bokuto, before tugging on the end of Kuroo’s shirt twice. Akaashi watches as Kenma says something into his ear after he bends down, and Kuroo nods.</p><p>“It seems to me like Kenma and I need to leave the area.” He says, very much not subtly. “Goodbye, Akaashi!”</p><p>Kuroo makes a kissy face at him, which somehow makes Akaashi color, and he leaves. Akaashi feels his heart soar as Bokuto practically runs into him, bending down slightly to wrap his arms around his waist and he is hugging him so tightly it makes him lose his breath.</p><p>“I was gonna say that I’m really proud of you, Keiji,” Bokuto says once he pulls away, tilting his head slightly at Akaashi, fond and genuine. “But, you knew that.”</p><p>“As I am, you.” Akaashi reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Bokuto’s ear from where the gel didn’t catch, the close proximity making him feel safe. “You deserved this.”</p><p>“And, um…”</p><p>Akaashi watches as Bokuto’s grin kind of fades, like a flashlight with burnt-out batteries, and he kind of gets worried for a moment before Bokuto looks back up at him.</p><p>“Um...would you like to see your portraits?” </p><p>Akaashi gasps slightly, the thought completely leaving his head once he arrived here. Bokuto had his own panel, too.</p><p>How could he forget?</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>He lets Bokuto lead him down the stairs and around the corner, the lights brighter over here considering these exhibitions were over and people were free to look at them without listening to a speech. Akaashi feels a sense of urgency to get there, to finally see these paintings, as if they were presents.</p><p>And he knew they’d be beautiful, but something was different about them when he looked at them, something new.</p><p>Colors splashed and flooded across every canvas he was looking at, smudges and strokes, pigments filling and blending. He especially liked the painting in the middle, where cherry blossoms were budding beneath his eyes and blooming from his cheeks, lips glossed.</p><p>He realizes this might be from the night Bokuto put makeup on him. And flowers didn’t bloom from his face that night, but he likes to imagine they did, thinking back on it.</p><p>Akaashi takes it in, how it looks like there was spring in him, sakuras raining. He remembers doing all of these poses at one point, feeling strange looking at prettier versions of himself draped in acrylic paint. </p><p>A dream was staring back at him, muffled, yet standing out the most.</p><p>They were beautiful to look at.</p><p>“I made the paint out of your favorite flowers. I think it turned out pretty well.”</p><p>Akaashi’s breath stops for a moment as his voice registers. </p><p>He looks at the yellows from the marigolds in his skin, the pink from the petunias spread over his lips, the forget-me-nots in his eyes and the roses in his cheeks. Stark, deep colors, all humbled under hushed tones that looked good together, all colors that he remembered and loved all the same.</p><p>He thinks it’s more than sweet for Bokuto to have remembered something like that. Akaashi sees him glance at him once, then twice, before letting his eyes fall to the floor.</p><p>Akaashi smiles.</p><p>“Thank you for remembering.”</p><p>“...Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” </p><p>Akaashi doesn’t have to reach far out to touch the back of Bokuto’s hand, and he hooks his pinky over his own, his head full of what felt like too many thoughts.</p><p>Bokuto was really starting to feel like his everything. Especially now, when he was caught up in the little things, Akaashi thinks those were better than big moments. There was something even more special about them.</p><p>And he thinks that Bokuto was just like photography, in a way.</p><p>He was the meticulous build, the path that led to a specific destination, and just as honest, if not, more.</p><p>He was Akaashi’s most forgiving medium, someone he could keep coming back to, someone he could love and remember to never forget about.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~⚘~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The night tired them out a lot more than it should have.</p><p>In their winter ritual of taking advantage of the onsen before it closed, they didn’t get home until midnight. Which was usually early for Akaashi, but the stress of the exhibit tired him out, and Bokuto was not too far from exhausted from lack of sleep the night before.</p><p>Lying in bed until they fell asleep was exactly the plan, and a good one at that.</p><p>Akaashi is drawing little shapes on Bokuto’s chest again, lazily, the full moon flooding into the window, her light brighter than usual. Bokuto was staring at the ceiling, his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders.</p><p>Akaashi could tell he was thinking, but he didn’t know exactly about what.</p><p>They’d been in silence for a while, a comfortable one that dragged out time and made the earth spin on her axis just that much slower for the two of them. The stars coalesce above them, sparks of electric blue against a dark navy gradient, the moon reflecting off of his glasses.</p><p>Akaashi feels his eyelids fall shut, and he could honestly fall asleep right now, but he didn’t want to leave Bokuto up by himself.</p><p>And as if Bokuto could read his thoughts, Akaashi feels the vibration of his voice underneath him as he says something, and Akaashi has to blink twice before he grasps some form of common sense to respond to him.</p><p>“What’d you say?”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Akaashi blinks, trying to register. Sorry? </p><p>He pulls back slowly, before tilting his head and looking at Bokuto from where he was lying on his chest, his heart beating in emergency.</p><p>“Sorry for what?”</p><p>Bokuto swallows, and he sighs into the air, shutting his eyes in distress. Akaashi misses the gold, suddenly awake. </p><p>What was happening?</p><p>“Because I know you said you wanted to take things slow. We’ve only been dating for three months.” Bokuto says, running his hands through his hair, and it splays against Akaashi’s white pillows in silver wisps. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Akaashi is very disoriented and he starts to card through his memories, wondering if there was something that happened earlier that he had forgotten about. He is more buzzing with anticipation rather than nerves, but even then, they haven’t really had a conflict before.</p><p>So what was he apologizing for?</p><p>“What are you saying?” Akaashi asks, his voice calm and level, despite his brain frying itself trying to figure out what was happening.</p><p>Bokuto sighs again, before he looks at Akaashi’s eyes, messing with his fingers as his hand rests on his chest. </p><p>They flick back and forth between his own, seemingly stuck.</p><p>“I think I…” Akaashi waits for him, searching his face for anything to give him a hint as best as he could in the wash of the moon.</p><p>“I think I’m falling in love with you.” </p><p>Akaashi is pricked with a bunch of hot needles and it makes the air in his lungs escape, his world spinning so, <em> so </em>fast.</p><p>He had that idea back in January, but, now that it was a real thing, a feasible idea, it feels strange. Akaashi really loved Bokuto, but he was planning on it to be more one-sided until they were further into it.</p><p>He didn’t expect this so soon.</p><p>Bokuto was really fighting with himself because of it, trying his best to respect Akaashi and find some sort of balance because of what he asked of him in December.</p><p>And while most people would be conflicted, Akaashi doesn’t know how he got so lucky.</p><p>He flops onto his back, Bokuto’s arm above his head from where it was around his shoulders, breathing out, contented. He feels his heart flying above the clouds, wind slotting between white feathers, taking all of his worries with him.</p><p>There is a clash of <em> I’m sorry </em> and <em> I love you, too, </em>and everything kind of scrambled until Bokuto was leaning over him, searching his face for a lack of sincerity. </p><p>There was none, because Akaashi never lied to him especially.</p><p>“Say it again,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi gives a tiny grin, reaching up to hold his face in his hand, thumb pressed against his warm skin. </p><p>Bokuto is what the storybooks write about when they talk about falling in love. </p><p>He is what magic and fairytales were like, what people wait for in fantasies. </p><p>Akaashi has never worn his heart on his shoulder so often like this, and as he sees that it continually is paying off, rewards in the form of self-love and worth, he didn’t mind doing it for Bokuto.</p><p>Bokuto leans his head into Akaashi’s touch and it makes him want to cry.</p><p>“I'm in love with you, Koutarou,” Akaashi says, his voice wavering in the night. “For a while, now.”</p><p>Bokuto leans down to gently press his nose against Akaashi’s, and Akaashi is about to kiss him before Bokuto pulls back a little, eyes focused on something else.</p><p>Akaashi’s frames are being pulled up over his forehead and set in his hair again, Bokuto’s fear of breaking them never faltering, even in a moment like this.</p><p>The kiss was different from the others, yet the same as all the rest, in the way he could never seem to put the right wording into how it made him feel. </p><p>It was a small electric current that pools in his chest, working its way through his fingertips as they graze Bokuto’s skin, his hair, his clothes. It was free-falling from the highest cliff and plunging into the warmest water, heat soaking into his skin. It was the soft pulse of butterfly wings and the eager push of red tide that coasts the edge of shorelines.</p><p>It tasted like cherry sugar.</p><p>And as Bokuto dragged love across his mouth, Akaashi thinks that Bokuto truly belonged in his universe, rather, twinkling among Sirius and Vega, with nothing to lose but time.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. bokuto, with love</h2></a>
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    <p>Springtime was definitely meant for falling in love. </p><p>It was the perfect time for hearts to flutter against rib cages, for stars to gather in heads, and for carnations to bud beneath cheeks. </p><p>Apart from the cherry blossoms that began to fall just as quickly as Akaashi had, he thinks the spring was most beautiful when Bokuto Koutarou was in it. </p><p>Between the chilly weather outside and warm bed sheets that he found himself beneath more often than not, Akaashi had a love for the spring that was increasing as time passed. </p><p>He’s learned to fall in love with the season. </p><p>He was beginning to really like the way trees shook with the doldrums near the ocean, or how the clouds looked like they belonged in clear plastic bags to be sold at carnivals. He was beginning to really like the way carmine lips sipped mugs of hot chocolate, how yellow rain boots would splash in puddles they passed, how gentle hands looked pressing paint onto canvas or held in his own. He was beginning to really like the way cuddles felt when torrential rain fell, as well as the many photos that were being added to his wall of a boy who smiled like summer, despite the change of season.</p><p>Said boy had coaxed him on his bike to go to the cherry blossom festival this evening, and while Akaashi was practically clinging onto him the entire way here, he was more than excited to see the blossoms fall with Bokuto beside him.</p><p>The sky was painted in a lucent amber, cobalt dusting the horizon as the sun smiled lazily at them, her time almost up before the moon clocked in. The trees are speckled in pink around them, varying shades of fuschia and magentas mingling and dancing with each other, splotches at their feet.</p><p>Akaashi was trying to get rid of the after-rattle in his legs, never really getting used to Bokuto’s motorcycle, despite riding it whenever they left town. The thrill of it was exhilarating, and it felt just like how he thought it would from the movies, but no one talked about how your legs felt like jello cups afterward.</p><p>But even then, it was okay. </p><p>They sat on a picnic blanket, other people settling around them and celebrating, their dimpled smiles and crinkled eyes making Akaashi feel a sense of home. The music from the performances a ways away was still present, but soft, serving as background noise that kept Akaashi’s conscience afloat and his mind clear.</p><p>Which he <em> needed, </em>considering he’d been holding onto something for Bokuto and he was nervous about his reaction to it.</p><p>He hoped he liked it.</p><p>He takes another sip from the sake he was holding, feeling his bones begin to wiggle.</p><p>Though he really shouldn’t be worried — Bokuto is happily finishing the futomaki Akaashi packed from the picnic basket across from him, the pink shirt he was wearing a little too big with the sleeves pooling at his elbows, no cares for anything in the world save for the fall of the blossoms.</p><p>Akaashi thinks he looks lovely. Pink <em> really </em> suited him.</p><p>“Oh, Keiji!” Akaashi waits for him, taking the time to reach for his own feet and stretch his legs out, feeling the static between his joints as they begin to fall asleep. “Would you like to stay for yozakura?”</p><p>Akaashi nods with a grin. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”</p><p>“It is very okay!” Bokuto says, and the branches of the tree above him shake gently as a wind swings past them. “We have more time to explore.”</p><p>“I kind of...wanna see the dancers.”</p><p>“Then, that will be our first stop once we’re done?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi nods again.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Akaashi goes back to thinking while Bokuto goes back to eating, and despite knowing how Bokuto would take it, he was still scared for some reason. </p><p>The ladybug is practically begging him to stop overthinking, and she opens her wings for a moment, Akaashi thinking of the orange that stains them. She tells him that Bokuto would like it.</p><p>Very much so, actually.</p><p>Akaashi finishes off the rest of the tiny bottle of sake quickly and glances at Bokuto, who is looking around at the flowers beside their picnic blanket with wide, starry eyes, his cheeks puffy with the last of the futomaki. Akaashi imagines him under the lights of fireflies, or an aurora even, wondering if he would look this beautiful and receptive to something so pretty.</p><p>Bokuto was one to take in the moments, Akaashi knew that much.</p><p>He reaches into the picnic basket and holds onto the black box, having half a mind to just throw it in the lake beside them. But he doesn’t, and sets his ladybug free for a moment, before he sets the box in his lap.</p><p>“...Koutarou?”</p><p>Bokuto tilts his head and looks at Akaashi curiously, before staring at the black box he was holding.</p><p>“I got you something.”</p><p>“Really?” Bokuto asks, as if nobody ever gets him gifts before, and Akaashi really likes how appreciative he was, even when he did things for him like this all the time.</p><p>He liked gift giving if it meant Bokuto smiling like this.</p><p>Akaashi nods, and holds the box out to him. </p><p>Bokuto opens it and takes the silver necklace from the styrofoam, holding it up to the evasive sunlight gleam from between the blossoms above them. It glinted in a hopeful, ironic way as the wind makes it twist like chimes on porch steps.</p><p>Bokuto has a starstruck grin on his face as he studies the sakura pendant, a soft, glossy pink filling the petals of it. </p><p>“Keiji, I might cry.” </p><p>Akaashi rolls his eyes with a smile, about to tell him he was ridiculous, before Bokuto holds the necklace out to him. Akaashi blinks, his heart immediately falling to the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“Can you put it on me?” </p><p>There was another one of those intimate feelings that Akaashi got sometimes, whenever Bokuto was this close to him. It bubbled up in him when he let him paint his entire back that one night, when he played with his fingers on the rooftop, when he put makeup on him. </p><p>Being this close, able to see every single one of Akaashi’s insecurities, able to look into his soul from just how blue his eyes were today…</p><p>It used to make Akaashi uncomfortable, yet, every single time they were this close, Bokuto would always smile and say he was–</p><p>“–so beautiful, Keiji.” </p><p>Akaashi’s cheeks are warm and he has to take a moment to look away and gather himself, the awestruck look in Bokuto’s eyes strumming his heartstrings, a fingerpicked acoustic that echoed a different sound, though the rhythm was the same.</p><p>“Thank you, Koutarou.” </p><p>And it took a while, but Akaashi gratefully accepted every single time Bokuto would reach for it, the glass bottle with the satin ribbon from the top shelf, finally feeling deserving of the word in its entirety. </p><p>Akaashi lets the pendant fall against Bokuto’s chest from his fingertips once he gets the clasp on, marvels at how beautiful it looks against his pale skin. He thinks that silver was not that bad a color as he thought, especially when it was around Bokuto’s neck.</p><p>Over the course of falling in love with him over the past few months, Akaashi’s learned that it had many sides, he was just too stubborn to look at them. </p><p>It meant new beginnings, starting with an old ending in the form of a boy who beamed gold. And as precious and valuable as silver was, as much time as Akaashi spent carrying it in his nose or around his fingers, it had been tarnished for as long as he could remember. </p><p>It was ruined for him.</p><p>But tonight, as Bokuto kisses him and silver glints in between them, he thinks Bokuto surpasses any value he could ever place on it. </p><p>He can’t help but smile as he does, feels love in the warm hands of a person who he placed the universe in. </p><p>And in their time of building and repairing their paradise, Akaashi thinks it was worth it to be able to find Arcadia in him, to be able to call him <em> home.  </em></p><p>“Hey, Pretty Boy?” Bokuto asks quietly, softly pressing his button nose to Akaashi’s beneath the shower of the cherry blossoms above them, his cheeks round with a grin. </p><p>“Yes, my love?”</p><p>“I like you a lot.” </p><p>And Akaashi is reminded of their time at the onsen, how new everything felt, compared to how new things felt now. A sweet and familiar newness that made his heart smile the more Bokuto stayed with him.</p><p>“I like you a lot, too.” </p><p>“Wanna go steady?” Bokuto’s eyebrows raise as if he was asking for the first time, and Akaashi rolls his eyes with a grin.</p><p>“I’d love to.” Akaashi says, giggling into his mouth when he kisses him again.</p><p>Akaashi finds his love in his hands, with his eyes of gold, his skin of honey, his lips of cherry sugar, and his heart of silver. He feels like nothing can beat him.</p><p>How precious, how valuable, how <em> beautiful</em>, his Bokuto was.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as u can probably tell i rlly love eskimo kisses they make me so &lt;3333</p><p>anyway that's it!! thank you for reading, i hoped you liked this!! i'm sorry it was so long (65k?? sheeeesh) but thank you for sticking around!! i appreciate yall so much ;-; comments are always very much appreciated!! pls tell me what you liked or didn't like so i could try to make the next au better (only if u wanna!!) c:</p><p>if you would like to be friends, here's my <a href="https://vistalune.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/kaashihq">twitter</a>, and <a href="https://curiouscat.me/kaashihq">curiouscat</a>!!</p><p>hmmm for now i'll probably take a break or make some oneshots until my next chaptered au but! i have plans on making a zombie au or maybe a demon one??</p><p>i wanna do something fantasy-related since i don't really do stuff like that but i dunno yet i'll just wing it and see where we go </p><p>if you would like to read more from me, i have a <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272104">bokuaka ghost au</a>, a <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007192">kuroken fake dating au</a>, and a <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323327">kuroken christmas au</a> already published, if you're interested c:</p><p>and i know it's just fanfiction but it means a lot to me that you took the time to come back here, despite the slow updates. thank you very much again!!</p><p>okay bye see u soon!! &lt;3333</p>
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